


Love & Death

by Charlie_Chandler



Category: Castlevania, Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alucard needs a hug, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Black Character(s), Blood and Violence, Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Interracial Relationship, Lovecraftian, Magic, Original Character(s), Other, Personal Growth, Post-Canon, Romantic Friendship, Season 3 blocked and ignored, Slow Burn, Takes place after season 2, Trauma, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-23 21:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_Chandler/pseuds/Charlie_Chandler
Summary: Since Trevor and Sypha's departure, Alucard has endured terrible loneliness and grief. Despite becoming known as the "Guardian Angel" — defender of Wallachia, and involving himself with witches, he believes it is his fate to suffer alone forever. One night, his world is turned upside down when the castle is visited by Mistress, the incarnation of Death. Each being the only remnant of what Dracula and Lisa have left behind, Alucard and Mistress Death revisit ghosts of their past, as they try to find solace amongst one another, and face the looming threats ahead.





	1. Chapter 1

I killed him… I _killed_ him. My father, my flesh and blood.

I saw him. I heard him groan in agony as his body disintegrated before me. His blood still stained my gloves, and the smell of decay never left me. The ash from his burnt body still seemed to cling to my hair, and sometimes I'd catch myself flexing the hand that held the stake which pierced him as if it were still in my grasp.

I miss my father. _He’s dead_. I miss him.

So why then do these accursed memories plague me so? Why then do I see him there, clutching my mother’s portrait in his hand? This is no memory; this is no ghost…is this really my father? _He’s dead_. Has he returned? _He’s dead. I killed him, he’s dead_.

What is this?

“Who are you?” Alucard demanded.

* * *

Earlier in the night, Alucard had left the castle to wander the grounds in search of an animal to hunt. When he returned, an unsettling chill set into his bones as soon as he stepped foot in the foyer. It made him shiver and gave him goosebumps; it was as if this chill constantly crept down his back, making his hair stand on end. There always seemed to be some sort of quiet, ambient noise that echoed throughout the castle, however now it was unnaturally quiet as if time had stopped. Even his footsteps seemed too loud as he searched the halls for an intruder. The echo from his boots unnerved him, so he decided to levitate instead. As he approached the open door to his father’s study he gasped.

A tall, dark figure loomed by the lit fireplace; it wore a dark, hooded cloak and its back was facing Alucard. Its head was dipped to stare at the portrait of Lisa Tepes, which is held in its hand. It was as still as a statue. The outline of this figure was too sharp, it's body too solid to only be a memory or a spirit. Alucard fell silently to his feet and his mouth fell open with the intent to speak.

_Is this my father?_ Tears brimmed his eyes and threatened to spill. _Has he returned?_

He hardened his expression and placed his hand on the handle of his longsword, ready to unsheathe it if necessary.

“Answer me, who are you?”

The figure lifted a hand to softly trace the outline of Lisa’s face with a long, pointed fingernail. It raised its head at the sound of Alucard drawing his sword and turned slightly to face him. He narrowed his eyes and posed to strike.

“Speak,” he ordered for the final time.

The figure sighed as if out of breath and lowered the portrait, then slowly turned to face him. His eyes widened slightly as he realized that this figure is… a woman? From what Alucard could tell she stood a few inches above him and she wore what appeared to be a floor-length, hooded black cloak. Underneath was a long, form-fitting, velvet dark blue dress with dramatic medieval sleeves. The neckline of her dress was high and straight, hitting right below her collarbone. A three chained, silver belt hung loosely on her wide hips and tiny human skulls hung like charms from the lowest chain. An intricate, round silver amulet hung proudly from her neck; a red, cracked gemstone sat in the center. Her hood shrouded her eyes and nose in shadow and her full lips were downturned at the corners. Alucard gripped his sword tighter.

_Who is this woman?_

She made no further movements and only seemed to stare him down; her stillness caused his stomach to turn, an odd and uncomfortable fluttering sensation permeated his gut; a sensation he hadn't felt since he had encountered his father with the intent to kill him. His hands started to sweat as the memory of that fateful night flashed through his mind once more, and his body began to involuntarily shake.

The woman tilted her head slightly to the side as a corner of her mouth lifted into a small pitying smirk, "hmph.”

She brushed him off and walked towards the desk where the portrait hung above. Carefully, as if fearing to damage it, she lifted the painting, placed it back on the wall, and continued to stare at Lisa. He bared his teeth as irritation stirred within him. He felt humiliated, ignored, and he cursed himself for succumbing to the overwhelming unease this woman evoked. From her eerie silence to the unnaturally smooth way she walked —as if she were gliding across the floor— it set him on edge. She was unearthly and seemed far too detached from even the most otherworldly creatures he’s dealt with before. It alarmed him how nonchalantly she ignored him, like how a man would ignore a line of ants beneath his boot: too indifferent to pay them any attention but confident in the fact that he’d crush them in an instant. The thought made Alucard shudder.

He watched as this woman lifted her hand to caress the cheek of Lisa’s portrait longingly. His eyes widened and his mouth fell agape. _What the hell?_

The way she touched his mother’s portrait seemed far too intimate for his liking. His confusion quickened to rage as he imagined this horrid woman touching his mother like that when she was alive, and he grimaced at the thought. Despite his discomfort, his anger was enough to steel his resolve. He gripped his sword tight, raised it, and quickly lunged towards her. In the blink of an eye, he had pierced her heart from behind deftly. He paid no heed to whether she was too slow to react or simply did not care to put up a fight. She grunted and slowly turned her head. Alucard stared in horror as he watched her head begin to rotate at a perfect 180-degree angle to face him. Before she had a chance to completely turn her head towards him, he plunged his sword deeper, to the hilt, inside of her body. This caused her head to swivel back quickly, her head bowed as she hunched over and braced her hands on the edge of the desk.

He spoke gravely, “You come into my home unannounced and have the gall to touch my mother’s portrait like that.”

He leaned towards her by a few inches causing the added weight to push her slightly forward against the desk. She exhaled shakily. “Your presence confounds me, woman, and your disregard angers me, so I ask again, what is your business here!”

Silence filled the room once more apart from the crackling of the fire. Alucard’s chest rose and fell with the heaviness of his breathing, his eyes were narrowed, and his patience was beginning to fade. He felt his sword waver slightly as the woman’s body began to tremble and he almost couldn’t believe he began to hear light sobs and hiccuping.

_Is she crying?_

“To mourn,” she replied. Her voice was soft and barely above a whisper.

His brows knitted in confusion, “what?”

She quickly turned around causing Alucard to lose his grip on the sword and stumble back.

“I said—!” Her voice boomed.

Suddenly a mysterious force snuffed the fire out and the room was bathed in a thick, dark shadow that seemed to wrap itself around every corner. All at once the high-pitched whistle of a strong, howling wind resounded throughout the room, it’s screeching deafening. Alucard could not tell from which direction this wind blew, nor what caused it, but it’s iciness bit at his skin, chilling him to the bone; and its force blew his long hair around wildly. Without warning he was overcome with an overwhelming feeling of dread and distress; it was as if a heaviness had settled upon his shoulders. He staggered back and fell helplessly onto his rear. He could feel his heartbeat wildly in his chest; the thrums of this beating pounded on his chest and rattled his rib cage.

He struggled to breathe and found it hard to swallow because of how dry his mouth had become. Panicking, he clutched his chest and choked. An ambient droning sound— akin to the buzzing of a multitude of flies— grew louder and louder in his ears, and static seemed to cloud his sight; invading from his peripheral vision and closing in towards the front, his line of sight becoming narrow. The figure of this woman loomed above him imposingly and he looked upon her in fear. He felt his nose begin to stuff as warm tears ran uncontrollably down his cheeks.

_What’s happening! Am I going to die?_

However, these sensations and the darkness were gone as quickly as they came, too quickly in fact for Alucard to process. It was as if nothing had happened. The fireplace was lit once again, bathing the room in an orangish glow, and the snapping of firewood filled the otherwise silent room once more. His chest expanded widely as he gulped down lung fulls of air. He dropped his head in his hands and carded them through his hair to tug on the roots.

_Was that real? Did I almost die?_

Alucard quickly realized that this woman was more dangerous than he’d originally believed, and he felt anxious at the thought of her harming the villagers who lived far beyond his castle. He released his hair and lifted his head to steal a glance at her through his parted fingers. He was afraid to stand, not wanting to seem like a threat. When he noticed that her head was bowed, he lowered his hands and cautiously raised his head to view her fully. She was trembling slightly, and she clutched her amulet in a tight fist.

“I—I said…” she began with a sad voice.

Hastily, Alucard scooted back as the woman walked forward to unsheathe herself from his levitating sword; it dropped to the ground with a _clank!_ The woman followed suit, falling to her knees with enough force to shake the ground.

“…to mourn.”

Her sobs began again as she curled in on herself; Alucard’s eyebrows raised in disbelief.

_To mourn?_ He looked at Lisa's portrait. _She was mourning my mother?_

It was then that he felt a slight tug on his heart. He hadn’t thought anyone else, besides his father and himself, had dealt with the pain of losing his mother. After killing his father, bearing the weight of loss became something he had carried himself, and it was such a heavy burden. At that moment Alucard had wished things were different, and that his mother’s love was enough to completely eradicate his father’s hate towards humanity. Maybe then he wouldn’t have needed to kill his father. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been so drastically alone. He yearned for the presence of his father, and much more than that, his mother. These were desperate and grieving thoughts, ones he had thought he was able to subdue, but they clawed their way from the recesses of his mind and attacked him once again. His throat tightened and he chastised himself for losing control of these wild thoughts, ones that used to keep him up for days at a time. To calm his mind, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, then exhaled through his mouth; he repeated this technique a few more times before opening his eyes.

He steeled himself and spoke with a gentler tone, “I do not know who you are and yet I empathize with you. If you truly came here to mourn my mother, then please…tell me who you are.”

The woman's sobbing stopped gradually, and she exhaled deeply once she was finished. Next, she sat back on her legs with one hand splayed behind herself for support and the other still clutched her amulet, albeit with a much softer grip. Most of her face was masked from Alucard, so he couldn’t see the forlorn look she had in her eyes when she raised her head to look at him.

_He looks just like her_, she thought. Fresh tears brimmed her eyes, but she was too exhausted to stop them from flowing.

She released her amulet to grip her hood, “very well.”

Frozen, Alucard didn’t blink as he finally saw this woman’s face. Her skin was a dark shade of brown and the richness of it was emphasized by the warm glow of the fireplace. This was contrasted by her wide eyes which were framed by thick, black eyelashes. The entirety of her irises and pupils were a blue so pale they almost blended in with the sclera, oddly there seemed to be some sort of inner glow that shone through, furthering her ethereality. Much to his surprise, they held a deep sadness that Alucard also saw in his own and momentarily reminded him of his father’s eyes moments before his death. Long, white, loosely waved hair cascaded down her back and echoed the same glow in her eyes. Though she looked to be in her early thirties, her face did not betray age-old wisdom.

Alucard gulped, she was beautiful.

Despite her grief, she lifted her head proudly and said with confidence, “I am Death, but you may call me Mistress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! Comments are always appreciated :)


	2. Chapter 2

Alucard remembers the times when it would become too cold inside the castle during his childhood. He would wrap himself up in a heavy blanket and wander the halls seeking the warmth and comfort of his mother. Since Lisa had lived in the castle longer than her son she was used to the coldness of the stone walls, but every so often a shiver would run through her body as well (especially when the castle would be transported to the outskirts of Russia or the mountains of Norway). Dracula was much different; the cold never bothered him, and while serving in the military as a human, he had no choice but to adjust to the freezing temperatures if he were fighting against heathens in the North. Until his discovery of electricity and then the invention of a lightbulb, he only used the castle fireplaces for light. That changed however when Lisa began her apprenticeship with him. To accommodate her and make her feel more welcome he lit the fireplaces. Her gratitude warmed his heart much more than any fire could ever warm his body.

One night, unbeknownst to little Adrian, Lisa left the castle to aid a nearby village during a particularly harsh winter and she would not be back for a few days. He wrapped himself in his favorite blanket and wandered down the halls to his mother’s lab. When he could not find her there, he walked to one of the smaller library rooms, one she occupied most often, but she was nowhere to be found. He whined woefully then scurried down the hall to the closest kitchen and dining area. He had hoped to find her there since she preferred to eat later into the night when she was knee-deep in research. When he couldn’t find her, he gripped his blanket tightly with shaking fists and cried.

Upon hearing his son’s cries, Dracula set his thick book aside and teleported quickly in front of him. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at Adrian. His puffy eyes, wet reddened cheeks, trembling lower lip, and white nightgown reminded Dracula oddly of a baby cherub.

_He is positively adorable; the mirror image of his mother_, he mused.

The thought of his wife brought an even wider smile to his face and a small twinkle to his eyes. As Adrian’s continued sobs shook Dracula out of his reverie, he bent down to pick him up when the child stretched his arms up to him.

“Papa,” he whimpered pitifully.

“What ails you, my boy?” Dracula rewrapped the fallen blanket on Adrian’s shoulders and used a corner of it to dab at the remaining tears that were beading on his son’s long eyelashes.

“You were supposed to be sleeping, Adrian, what happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

The boy shook his head and held onto his father.

“No, papa.”

Dracula arched his brow questioningly. “But you are shaking.”

He was aware that Adrian was still susceptible to the cold, and it was something that he had hoped his son would outgrow as he got older and developed more as a dhampir. He also knew that Adrian usually went to his mother with these things, she could practically read his mind; but Dracula preferred for his son to open up more and talk about the things that bothered him, rather than assume that anyone was just supposed to know.

Adrian’s frown deepened as he tugged on his father’s shirt and stared at him with comically widening eyes.

_Stubborn boy._

Dracula decided to humor him a little, so he lifted Adrian and pressed his ear to his stomach, much to his son’s fussing.

“Hmm, your stomach isn’t growling, so you can’t be hungry.”

“Papa!”

Next, Dracula lowered him back to the crook of his arm and pressed his palm to Adrian’s forehead. Unfortunately for him, his father’s palm covered the entirety of his face!

Dracula feigned worry, “Oh my, you aren’t burning either! How peculiar, what could _possibly_ be wrong with you?”

He laughed at his son’s mumbled whining.

“What was that? You must speak up, how can I hear you?”

Adrian giggled and bit playfully at his father’s fingers with his small fangs, which caused Dracula to remove his hand and reveal Adrian’s beaming smile.

“Now, tell me what’s really wrong, my son.”

Adrian visibly shook, “I’m cold, Papa.”

He sniffled as his eyes started to water again, shakily he muttered, “I tried to find Mama too, but I can’t.”

Dracula nodded and patted Adrian’s back reassuringly. “I see. Well, your mother left the castle while you were sleeping. She’s going to the nearby village to help…the _humans_,” he said contemptuously.

Adrian cocked his head when he saw his father stare coldly into space with a faraway look in his eyes. He didn’t know why he looked so mean but he didn’t like it.

“Mama will be able to help them,” Adrian replied innocently.

“Indeed.”

“When will she be back?”

“In a few days.” He smiled at his son. “Now, shall we do something about the cold?”

Adrian nodded eagerly.

Once they reached his room, Dracula continued to hold Adrian in his arms as they approached the back wall. Next, he raised one arm and placed his hand on it.

“We’re going to try a small spell.”

Adrian giggled. “Mama doesn’t like spells.”

Dracula chuckled. “No she doesn’t, so let’s keep this between you and me?”

Adrian met his father’s eyes and smiled mischievously.

“Right then, this is a simple heating spell. Its main purpose is to warm the surrounding area within a few meters. Raise your hand, Adrian, and repeat after me.”

“Okay!”

Dracula hugged him tighter to his body.

“This spell will be more effective than a meager fireplace. You’ll never be cold again, my dear boy.”

* * *

His father’s loving words echo in his mind.

_You’ll never be cold again, my dear boy. _

Alucard sat in the armchair facing the fireplace, being warmed neither by the crackling fire nor his fond memories. Mistress Death stood a few feet beside him after refusing to take the seat when he had offered it to her. The eerie chill Alucard had felt earlier died down to a slight discomfort as a result of the awkward silence that hung between them. As he watched the fire, he waited for her to speak. Her mouth opened and closed slightly a few times until finally, she said, “I did not mean to run into you tonight.”

“No? Neither did I. It was…jarring, to say the least,” he replied.

She hummed in agreement.

For a few moments, he drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair before clearing his throat and turning to face her.

“You said that you were here to mourn.” She cringed inwardly. “I want to know how you’ve come to know my mother.”

She sighed heavily. “It’s nothing worth mentioning.”

“I disagree.”

She crossed her arms and scowled at him. 

“What good would it be for you to know?”

His eyes narrowed as he stood.

“I watched you caress my mother’s portrait not too long ago –"

She scoffed, “— And what of it?”

“You two were _obviously_ close and I only ask what your relations with her were. Have I no business to know?”

She turned her back to him. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with such trivial things, _boy_. Knowing won’t bring her back from the dead,” she spat.

His jaw clenched. _Why is she being so defensive? Was her relationship with my mother so wrong that she chooses not to speak of it_? His suspicion grew with every second he pondered this thought.

“I do not come from a place of ill intent.” He slowly approached her, hands raising slightly, “I only wish—”

With a growl, Mistress swiveled her head around and fixed him with an icy glare; her wild eyes and bared teeth made Alucard stop dead in his tracks as caution fluttered in his belly.

“...to know,” he finished weakly. Her explosive, almost frightening, anger confused him.

“Why?” she asked pointedly.

Alucard held her gaze for a moment before twisting his face into a dispirited frown. He exhaled tiredly and trudged back to the armchair, collapsing into it. Mistress followed his movements. Her face softened as she watched his shoulders slouch and his eyes lowered to the floor.

“Because—you looked at her as my father once did.”

As he said that her heart dropped.

_He only wishes to know_.

She wrung her hands together and chewed at her lower lip, bowing her head in silent shame. For centuries Death had prided herself on her indifference as a detached entity. She only observed the fleeting lives of humans and monsters alike and appeared only to those who had the courage and power to summon her. Contrary to popular belief, it was never she who reaped the souls of the dying but her vast legions of underlings, whom she created. She hardly involved herself with the lives of others and had always intended to keep it that way. However, even she was not immune to the assault of emotions she often ridiculed lesser beings for having. As ancient as she was, these _feelings_ were still new to her and the complexity of it all almost made her sick. In a moment of vulnerability, she had revealed herself to Alucard as she held Lisa’s portrait. She was infuriated with her carelessness, even more so when she cried in front of him. This grief exhausted her, and his presence chipped away at her fragile being. His constant prodding only served to anger her further, causing her to lash out. Had she known Alucard would be here, she never would have come.

He reminded her too much of them.

_Their child, born of love_.

Her lip began to quiver.

When Lisa and Dracula died, she had finally understood grief. Humans (and even some monsters) were created to experience emotions. She was not. She clutched herself tightly and shivered violently.

_Damn these emotions, damn them all! _

As much as she tried to deny it, she had realized at that moment that Alucard–

“…is all I have left,” she whispered, eyes widening.

She ground her teeth and balled her fists.

_How much more of this can I take!_

She edged towards him with heavy, hesitant steps. As she neared him, she noticed that his hands were trembling, and he was panting as if he were desperately struggling to hold himself together. His anguish filled her with compassion, so she rested a gentle hand on top of his hoping that it would comfort him. When he lifted his head, she avoided his gaze and abruptly removed her hand before he had the chance to respond. She laced her fingers together and resumed her original position in front of the fireplace.

She kept her eyes trained on the dying flames and when she spoke, her voice was emotionless.

“I have existed for millennia, manifesting because of the fall of man. I never spoke, nor laughed, nor smiled, for I had no face to smile. I was born as an indescribable thing, shapeless and slithering and ugly. And in earlier civilizations of men and monsters, I was feared because I was inconceivable...” Alucard swallowed nervously as he watched her shadow twist and writhe in a frenzied mass of tentacles and other horrid, pulsating forms. He struggled to stop himself from summoning his sword. He’d feel safe yet humiliated, so he took her behavior as a challenge.

His skin began to crawl when a deep, guttural, disembodied voice droned in his ears. As Mistress Death continued speaking, this voice repeated her words simultaneously.

“Those who gazed upon me were rendered immobile as terror set in their bones and their spirits became devoid of hope.” A violent shudder ran up his spine. 

She craned her head towards him and strayed a glance with chilling, empty eyes.

“I just _am_ death, and it’s all I ever was,” she stated matter-of-factly.

In the blink of an eye, she disappeared with no sound or sign of her departure.

Alucard's heart dropped when he sensed her appear behind him.

She stared down at him from above, observing him with a piercing gaze, like how a predator watches its prey. Strands of her long hair wisped gently around her as if blown by an invisible wind, and the rest cascaded forward, trapping her and Alucard in a snowy white curtain.

Although beads of sweat began to form on the back of his neck, he looked into her ghostly eyes, leveling her with his own cold stare, not wanting to be intimidated (or appear as if he was). They stayed like this for several heartbeats.

Mistress Death seemed like an utter paradox to Alucard. Just how her white hair contrasted with her dark skin, so did her beauty clash with the nightmarish horror of her true form.

_How did my mother ever get caught up with this…woman?_

When she seemed satisfied her hair settled neatly back into place. She hummed to herself and moved to stand beside the chair. He watched as she hugged her shoulders and looked down at the floor. She inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled shakily.

With a voice heavy with the weight of sorrow and remorse, she confessed, “As long as I’ve existed, I’ve never felt anything towards any other being until your parents came along. I loved them fiercely and now they are gone from me. You are the child born of their love, which means that you are all I have left of them. This world and those in it mean nothing to me, but you are the only exception.”

His eyes widened and his mouth gaped like a fish. As terrifying as she was Alucard felt strangely comforted by her words. He had no friends once Trevor and Sypha left. Since their departure, he guarded the castle and the Belmont hold and even defended Wallachian villages from the various monsters that roamed in the night. No longer called the “sleeping soldier” he became the “guardian angel” and remained anonymous to the Wallachians. They praised him but they did not _know_ him. He honored his mother through his duty and even felt somewhat fulfilled by it, but unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. His isolation ate away at him and caused him to long uncontrollably for companionship. He was a powerful dhampir, son of the dark lord Dracula, and defender of Wallachia. Howbeit, his loneliness reduced him to a shriveling mess, and he considered himself weak for it. Over time he’s bottled up this vulnerability and suffered silently. He was as stoic as he was prideful yet being treasured by Mistress made a light blush rise to his cheeks.

“I never even loved myself because there was no need to. My presence simply _was _death. I existed for no other reason.”

She clutched her amulet absentmindedly.

“I knew Dracula far longer than I knew Lisa; he was my friend. I first met him when he summoned me while he was human, begging me to help him achieve immortality. I dismissed his wishes and turned him away, but when he summoned me a third time, he proposed that he earn immortality instead.”

“How so?”

She showed him her amulet. “By re-creating this, the Crimson Stone. It’s one of the most powerful treasures in the supernatural world.”

The Crimson Stone? Alucard’s only knowledge of the stone came from brief mentions of it in a few books from the Belmont hold. There wasn’t enough information to keep him interested, but he only knew that it was an alchemic jewel created by an ancient Egyptian priest around 3000 BC.

He stood and stretched his hand out to her, “May I?”

She removed the amulet and placed it in his hand. As he observed it, she continued, “It has the power to trap vampire souls and grant it’s owner immense supernatural power.”

He hummed softly. Alucard was always impressed by his father’s proficiency in the dark arts. “Interesting, how did he go about re-creating it?”

“Your father was as skilled in alchemy as he was in science. His vast knowledge was one of the things I admired about him, but I do not know exactly how he did it. However, even if he failed, I would have granted him his wish.”

Alucard cocked his brow. “Why?”

Mistress Death flashed her teeth. “I’ve always found mankind’s desire to cheat _me_ to be…commendable. The lengths some have gone through to achieve immortality have been rather—” she smirked wickedly “–entertaining.”

He shrunk back at her words, a disgusted frown making its way onto his face. He handed the amulet back to her and placed a hand on his hip.

“That’s all good and well, but it still doesn’t answer the question about my mother.”

Her lips downturned and her brows knitted together as she wandered towards Lisa’s portrait again. He followed closely behind and stood at her side, noticing how her eyes were becoming moist.

“Your father and I were like kindred spirits, solitary beings who only ever sought the company of one another. Even still, his loneliness was like that of…” she grasped for a word.

“…an icy well,” he murmured sadly.

She nodded. “Right. Our friendship could not fulfill him, and he was miserable even in my presence. I cared deeply for him and wanted him happy. When he met Lisa, I didn’t think much of her; I figured that she was his apprentice and nothing more. She was hardly special in my eyes for she was only another human.”

She placed a careful hand on Lisa’s portrait, leaning forward slightly to stare deeply into her eyes as if she were engaging in an actual conversation with her.

“However, she filled a void in him that I could not and for that, I would always be grateful. He cherished her greatly and because he loved Lisa—” she lowered her hand to her chest, “—I loved Lisa. And because I loved her through him, I desired to know her as he did, until I eventually became fond of who she was and not only what she did for Dracula.”

Alucard’s head tilted as he smiled softly at her confession. Mistress blinked rapidly to prevent her tears from flowing. Her throated constricted tightly, causing her breathing to stutter, so she turned her body away from Alucard to prevent him from seeing her cry…again. 

_Damn it_. She scolded herself.

Confessing her love for them was nothing compared to revealing how she properly met Lisa. Ever since the day she saved her, a continuously swelling apprehension had settled heavily in the back of her mind until her worse fear was realized. She had saved Lisa but also damned her to an even worse fate.

_I can’t do this._ She thought panickily. _I can’t tell him; I can’t relive this!_

“Mistress.” His voice broke her from her thoughts, and she groaned internally in anticipation for what she knew he was about to ask.

“Perhaps another time,” she replied coldly. “I am tired.”

Alucard was slightly disappointed he didn’t get the exact answer he was hoping for. He still wanted to know exactly how Mistress and his mother met, but he was still grateful for all she revealed to him tonight. He speculated that it might’ve only been a simple introduction between them by his father, but as dodgy as she acted tonight, he doubted that was the case. There was something she wasn’t telling him, and it made him itch to know.

She lifted her hood back on her head and walked towards the door. As she departed Alucard felt his spirits slowly sink. As strange as this encounter was, he felt less alone with her here, and the thought of returning to his isolation scared him.

“Will you return?” he blurted out before she crossed the threshold.

She stopped in her tracks. “I cannot say that I wish to see you again.”

His shoulders lowered in despondency.

“But… if you want me to return, I shall,” she said hesitantly.

Hope blossomed in his chest. “I would like that.”

“Until then, Alucard.”

He placed a hand over his heart and gave a small bow. “Please, call me Adrian. It’s what my mother named me after all.”

She looked back at him, the corners of her lips lifting into a small smile.

“Alright, Adrian.” She vanished in a wisp of black smoke.

Once she was gone, he placed new wood on the rack of the fireplace and summoned fireballs to feed the weakening flames. When he was satisfied, he discarded his coat and settled back into the chair. He placed his chin in his hand as he recounted his first encounter with Death, and eagerly waited for her return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! Comments are always appreciated :)


	3. Chapter 3

Isolated from a populous village in the countryside of Arges county sat a small cottage belonging to the Ardelean sisters, who were elderly and identical twin witches. Alina and Amalia Ardelean were born in 1408, hailing from a bloodline that passed magic and the practice of witchcraft through the maternal lineage. Unfortunately for Alina, she was unable to bear children, and Amalia birthed a son, who died during the first raid of Dracula’s hellish army in Targoviste. He was forty-eight and left behind no wife, no children, and not a penny to his name. Stubbornly, he refused to leave when Dracula aired his first and _only_ warning, and his bullheadedness tore a rift between the sisters who’ve been inseparable since birth. Amalia stayed behind to ensure his safety (since her pleading fell on deaf ears) while Alina fled to Transylvania along with a handful of others. However, Amalia’s spells only protected those who accepted them, and her son had long denounced his mother’s practice of witchery. Much to the point of threatening to turn her over to the church. When he died, she grieved for him, but the absence of her sister pained her more. Soon after she’d caught word of another attack on Gresit, she left for Transylvania to reunite with Alina. After news spread through supernatural circles that Dracula was defeated, the pair settled in Arges county to (hopefully) live a peaceful life.

Be that as it may, tonight the village would soon be under attack by a horrid creature known as the Tarazoth –a mighty beast that stood upright at ten feet, with rough and near-impenetrable skin. It had a mouth full of grossly jagged teeth, and a large forehead that extended up into massive, curved horns. The humpback and shoulders of this creature were adorned with spikes that cascaded down its disproportionately long arms and tail. It had vast, bat-like wings and stood on two meaty hind legs with three-toed, clawed feet. This night, peace would not be granted to anyone.

* * *

The full moon hung high in the inky black sky like a midnight sun. Not a soul stirred within the village, a heavy sleep encasing the villagers who were woefully unaware of the danger to come. A light breeze rustled the trees and whistled deep within the woods where the orange light of a lit fireplace glowed through the windows of the Ardelean sister’s cottage. Alina stood by the stone fireplace, stirring a strange concoction in a large black cauldron while Amalia wrung her twitching, wrinkled hands beside her.

“Oh, the blood,” Amalia groaned, “we need the blood!”

“And we shall have it, sister! The Tarazoth soon approaches,” Alina said confidently.

Amalia’s eyebrows squeezed together in a frown as her bloodshot eyes bulged furiously, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Yes, yes, but how much farther? I itch!” She clawed at her arms and neck madly, gnashing her teeth in anguish. The uncomfortably ticklish feeling of bugs crawling beneath her skin flared up once again, causing her nails to leave stripes of angry, red welts in their wake.

Alina gave a single vicious spank to the back of Amalia’s hands with her wooden spoon. “Keep that up and you’ll tear right to the bone.”

Amalia shook her hands in an attempt to alleviate the pain from her sister’s blows. Through gritted teeth, she uttered, “what shall you have me do then?”

Alina shrugged. “Chew on your hair.”

“My hair! Am I as a cow who chews on cud?”

Alina twirled her finger in the air, a sparkling mist trailing behind it. “Do not tempt me.”

Amalia’s long gray hair loosened itself wildly from its bun and whished around her as if caught in a whirlwind. She exhaled flames as she pounced at her sister, constricting her hands around her throat.

“You cabin wench!” She growled.

Unfazed by her sister’s frequent outbursts, Alina’s eyelids drooped as she was subject to yet another annoying ramble. Occasionally, her nose would wrinkle as her sister’s hot, stinking breath assaulted her nostrils.

_She reeks like a cow._

Suddenly, an electric buzz ran its way up Alina’s spine, causing her eyes to widen slightly. Blinking, she cast her gaze towards the ceiling. The sisters’ sensitivity to magic allowed them to sense when supernatural forces were present, and in some cases, predict imminent danger. As a result of this, they placed a protection spell over their cottage.

_It would be impossible for the Tarazoth to even fly a few meters above the roof, let alone touch it. _Alina narrowed her eyes quizzically._ Unless…_

Before Amalia had the chance to blather another word or exhale another gush of flames, Alina clamped her hand over her mouth.

“Quiet, you fool!” Alina hissed, keeping her voice at a whisper. “Your anger will be your downfall! Do you not sense that?”

Sure enough, Amalia felt the same tingle run through her spine. Her anger deflated as hot steam gusted through her nostrils and her hair fell limply. Her eyebrows raised as the ceiling creaked above where they stood. The sisters looked up and with bated breaths, turned their heads to follow the direction of the noise. Slowly, they were led to staring at the front door where they heard a thump from outside. Alina uncovered Amalia’s mouth and said, “Ready the kettle.”

Two solid knocks rattled the wooden door.

“He’s here.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for Alucard to make his way to Arges county. It was a three-day walking trip from the castle he was able to cut down to one day by sprinting in his wolf form. The village was surrounded by forestry, and when Alucard arrived at the edge of it, he transformed into a small bat to scout the area for the Tarazoth. Even though he was a dhampir and also trained himself in magic, he was not as attuned to sensing supernatural forces as the Ardelean sisters, which is why he often entrusted in their intuition. It was they who spread his new moniker as the “guardian angel” after he saved them from a group of magicians, who wanted to kill them and raid their cottage. Help with locating the creatures who threatened Wallachia was the only payment he desired. Most importantly, he trusted them enough to allow them to see his face, something he always kept hidden with shadow magic when fighting in the villages.

After an unsuccessful attempt at trying to locate the Tarazoth, Alucard reverted to his original form as he landed on the rooftop of the sisters’ cottage. He always knocked twice and waited to be invited inside since it was charmed to repel vampires that were not invited across the threshold. Alina opened the door with a wide smile and gazed at Alucard warmly. Seeing him always made her giddy with excitement, especially when he was dressed so regally. Around his neck, he wore a large, white cravat. It was tucked neatly inside a patterned, black aristocratic vest held together by four square brooches at the center. The brooches led down to a brown sword belt that cinched his waist. Over the vest he wore a long overcoat decorated with a gold pattern at the front and on the cuffs. Secured across his shoulders with a chain hung a grand black cloak with a white interior. His black pants were swallowed at the knee by the large white cuffs of his short-heeled, black leather boots. Adorning his head was a black, renaissance-styled hat with a wide brim trimmed in gold and garnished with a flamboyant white feather.

He was handsome, and if Alina were any younger and able to have children, she wished to have birthed him.

“Ah, the angel.” She gestured inside. “Come, we’ve been expecting you.”

Alucard hummed in response and stepped inside. At the wooden dining table, he settled in the chair that Amalia pulled out for him and crossed his legs. Then, he removed his hat and gloves when she offered him a cup of tea and a small spoon. As she began to remove her hand, he caught it with lightning speed when he noticed the red sores blossoming on it. He turned her trembling hand over in his and swept his eyes up to her neck, where he saw the inflamed scratch marks.

“How unusual,” he commented with a slight frown. Her ears turned red when Alucard observed her with half-lidded eyes.

“You look as if you’ve gotten into a fight.”

“A fight?” She laughed shakily.

He cringed inwardly. _What is that godawful stench?_

Alucard fought the urge to reel back as he smelled her breath. He didn’t want to fluster her any more than she already was, so as a courtesy, he remained stoic. He lowered his eyes back to her hand to peer closer at the sores.

“There are books at my castle which detail lesions that look like this. However, this does not seem like an allergy.” His brow furrowed. “A systematic infection, perhaps? If so, it could explain your breath.”

_Whoops._

Amalia released her hand from his grasp to cover her mouth. “My breath! What about my breath!” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as she began sputtering.

Alina settled across from Alucard with her own cup of tea. “She grows worse by the day, my angel.”

He rested his head in the palm of his hand and idly stirred his tea. “If that’s the case then allow me to help. Given some time, I should be able to prepare a medicine once I know exactly what needs to be treated.”

She chuckled. “Alas, this is no ordinary sickness, she’s rotting from the inside out. Amalia was cursed with a pestilence spell by another witch.”

The spoon clinked against the side of the cup as Alucard stopped stirring. “Another witch? For what reason?”

“Vengeance!” Amalia interjected, settling next to Alina. “She was a member of the coven we belonged to decades ago before we settled here in Wallachia.”

Alina continued, “Her name was Nemesis and she was very powerful. She charmed her spirit to curse whoever killed her.”

Intrigued, he propped his chin on the back of his hand and leaned forward slightly. “Despite the power you say she had, if she charmed her spirit then she expected to die coming here.”

She nodded with a sly smirk. “The coven does not take kindly to those who break away from it, but they have often made the mistake of underestimating us.”

Amalia regarded him with heavy eyes and an empty stare. “However, we’ve had to bear the burden of our freedom for decades,” she finished sadly.

Alucard’s nostrils flared. As annoying and eccentric he oftentimes found them to be, he also knew that they were good women who were wronged many times throughout their life. Although losing them would be a liability, he genuinely wanted to protect them, because he wished for no harm to come their way. He stood and strode to the cauldron, the heavy thud of his boots against the hardwood floor commanding their attention. He clasped his hands behind his back and watched the thick, creamy substance bubble. Regardless of its sickening appearance, it emitted a faint sweet-smelling fume, like that of honey. The stark contrast was jarring and briefly reminded him of someone…

“Tell me more of this creature,” he ordered, a bit harsher than he actually meant. Alina rose with a grunt and stretched her sore back. Summoning a weighty tome from the bookshelf nearby, she flipped the pages until she arrived at a crude drawing of the Tarazoth. Alucard took the book when she held it out to him and studied the pages written in an otherworldly language.

While skimming the crowded shelves, she informed, “The Tarazoth is an ancient being belonging to a race that existed hundreds of years ago in the monster realm of the Outerworld. Its kind has slowly died out over the years due to it being hunted for its blood.”

He nodded in understanding. “I suppose its blood has healing properties?”

“That amongst other things,” Amalia said from her place at the table. “The blood can also be used as a poison for vampires, it is very potent to their kind.”

Alucard halted in his movements.

She wagged a finger at him. “I’ll advise you, dhampir, do not go drinking from this one if your thirst betrays you. Though you may be half human, you wouldn’t want to burn a hole through your stomach.” She cackled but her laughter quickly turned into a short fit of coughing.

Alucard smirked and shut the book in one hand, then glanced over his shoulder at her.

“Please, Amalia, even if I were overcome with thirst, you wouldn’t find me drinking from such a filthy creature. It’d upset my standards.”

_Come to think of it, that would be a step above drinking from a Belmont, however. _He chuckled to himself, his eyes glistening fondly.

Alina tossed some herbs into the cauldron and began stirring it again, turning it a light green. “It is very rare to behold a Tarazoth, even those in the Outerworld live their whole lives without ever glancing at one. We are very lucky to have one come here tonight.”

“Yes, I bet the villagers would agree,” Alucard responded sarcastically.

She shrugged. “Life and death are in your hands tonight, my angel. If you aren’t careful, there will be losses, but the blood is all we need to complete this potion.”

“I don’t plan on returning empty-handed then.”

Amalia handed him a beautifully carved, glass jar secured with a cork. “Once the beast is killed, you must drain its blood into here. I enchanted it, so the bottom is endless.”

“Hurry now, the monster approaches!” Alina exclaimed.

At that point, a deafening roar ripped through the stillness of the night, followed by the shrill cries of a woman.

Alucard bared his teeth. As fast as the snapping of a finger, he stood in the doorway with his gloves and hat already on. The sisters scurried behind him with their eyes alight with awe. In a flash, Alucard bolted into the night, a great blast of wind occurring behind him, due to his takeoff. The door was suctioned closed and the sisters yelped when they were dragged to crash into it, effectively closing them off from the battle that was about to commence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! Comments are always appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

The hot, moist breath of the Tarazoth billowed out of its gaping maw like a cloud of fog in the freezing air. Despite the sheer size of its mighty wings, it swept as quietly as a mouse above the town, scanning for any signs of movement. Being a blind creature, its hearing was impeccable, as the sound of a woman stirring in her sleep drew its attention. It dove like mad, forcefully breaking through the thatched roof of her two-story home, pinpointing the exact room in which she was resting.

Said woman awoke with a start, clutching her chest tightly as her eyes grew wide with fear when she beheld the monster. A shrill cry tore itself from her chest as the Tarazoth roared powerfully enough to rattle the walls. Her legs kicked frantically at her sheets, and in a haste to get away, she became more tangled in her blankets. However, she managed to free herself before the Tarazoth pounced at her. Falling to the ground from her bed, she luckily dodged the beast’s vicious swipe. She attempted to sprint to the door but screamed in agony as she fell to the ground.

Through the shredded material of her nightgown, her back was decorated with the marks of the beast’s claw. Her blood pooled from these welts in racing lines, staining her gown a horrid red. Despite this, she mustered enough strength to fling open her bedroom door and run into the arms of her father, who was frantically making his way to her room. She collapsed in his arms panting.

“Elena!” he shrieked.

“Father, we must –!”

_BAM! _

The Tarazoth managed to break through the wall, spraying Elena and her father with splintered wood. Its guttural growl vibrated their eardrums as it thrashed about wildly to completely free itself of the hole it made.

Her father blanched. “Come, Elena!”

He picked her up bridal style, rushed down the stairs, and out the front door. Many of their neighbors were already gathered in the front of their house, armed with pitchforks and torches.

“Michael,” one man asked the father. “What’s happened?”

“We must run! A monster – he attacked my daughter!”

Fearful and erratic murmurs ran throughout the crowd. They were soon silenced when they saw the Tarazoth burst from the roof of the home. Debris from the broken home rained down onto the crowd, causing them to scream and shield their faces. The beast landed ten meters away from the cowering townsfolk, and sniffed the air, slowly moving its head as if scanning the area. All was quiet for a pregnant moment until a little boy, who was overwhelmed with so much fear, cried out in distress. The monster snarled and bounded towards the crowd like an angry bull.

Suddenly! A figure shot down from the sky like a bullet, smashing the head of the Tarazoth to the ground. There was enough impact to crush the earth and form a crater. Dust from the landing clouded the air, masking the figure from the crowd.

“What was that! Another monster!”

“God help us!”

"Quickly, we must flee!”

“No! No look! The Angel, it’s him!”

Some people cheered, while others cried, and a few thanked God.

Alucard pressed his lips into a thin line and raised his hand to silence them. “Enough.”

He leaped from the Tarazoth’s head and landed gracefully in front of the crowd, who gazed upon him with relief and wonder.

With a steady voice, Alucard commanded them, “Do not despair. I’ve heard your cries and have come to save you. Run to your homes and do not come outside until the morn.”

He turned to the Tarazoth when it began to groan and shuffle, drawing his sword and posing to strike. “This shan’t take long.”

xXx

Alucard was careful when he battled the monster, not wanting to shed any unnecessary blood. He baited it to the outskirts of the village and drained it when he was sure it was dead. Next, he used a handy spell to cleanly dispose of the carcass. Once finished, he was about to make his way back to the Ardelean sisters’ cottage when he heard the snap of a twig.

“Tsk.” Alucard’s eye twitched and he grumbled under his breath. “I thought I said to stay in your home until morning.”

He turned immediately to the sound of a body dropping to the ground, and his brows raised. It was Michael, Elena’s father, and he had fallen to his knees in a bow, pleading, “Please, Angel, please save my daughter. She was attacked by this beast and she is dying. I can do nothing for her.”

Alucard faltered at the sight of Michael bowing to him but recovered smoothly. “Stand. You do not need to bow to me.”

He obeyed and said, “I’ve heard stories of you.”

Alucard’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of stories?”

“That you are a man of magic and science, like Dracula.”

A vice gripped Alucard’s heart at the mention of his father’s name, but he clenched his jaw at the thought of being compared to him. He did not trust how he would sound if he replied, so he remained silent.

Michael asked, “Is this true?”

“Perhaps,” he stated coldly.

The man sobbed. “I am a man of the church, but I care not how you heal my daughter. I beg of you, please save her!”

Alucard nodded. “Very well,” he said softly, “lead the way.”

* * *

Being a creature of habit, Alucard preferred to traverse either on foot or by shapeshifting, so it was rare when he decided to fly for long distances. However, tonight was an exception. His fight with the Tazaroth left him feeling drained and worn out, much to his dismay, and he wanted nothing more than a hot bath. His travel time was reduced exponentially, and he sighed in relief when the castle came into view. The sun had yet to rise over the horizon, so the land was still bathed in the nightly shades of blue. Yet, according to Alucard’s biological clock, it was about five o’clock, meaning there were roughly two hours before sunrise. He always felt most tired at sunrise and he attributed this to the sleep schedule his parents adhered to when he was younger…

“We rise at dusk and set at dawn, Adrian,” his mother said sweetly, tucking him under the thick blankets.

Adrian huffed as he plopped his head against the fluffy pillow, causing some feathers to fly from a small opening on the side of it. Lisa caught them between her fingers and muttered exasperatedly. She ran her thumb over the tear and reminded herself that she needed to patch it up again. Her little son, bless his heart, was beginning to teethe his pillows at night to soothe the aches he felt from his freshly emerged fangs.

_It is to be expected_, Dracula informed her once, _he is a dhampir after all_. She was at least relieved that Adrian chose to nibble his pillow, rather than her breasts when she used to breastfeed him.

“But, I’m not tired yet, mama,” he whined. “There’s still so much I want to do!”

Lisa chuckled as she tried to settle Adrian back under the covers he was trying to wrestle his way out of. “I’m aware, but you need to sleep now, darling.”

“But –”

“Adrian.” Dracula’s stern voice resounded from the doorway, silencing the boy immediately. He emerged from the shadows of the hallway and walked towards the bed with heavy, authoritative steps. Adrian sunk deeper under his blankets, bringing them up to screen part of his face. Dracula regarded his son with a disapproving frown but struggled to crack a smile at his son’s feeble attempt to sway him with puppy-dog eyes.

He crossed his arms. “Why are you being so combatant, my boy?”

Adrian lowered the blankets. “I —"

“Listen to your mother.”

He sighed dejectedly and lowered his head. “Yes, papa.”

“Good. Now apologize.”

Adrian blinked owlishly at his father. “Huh?”

Lisa clicked her tongue. “Vlad –” she interjected, her hands settling on her hips. He pretended not to notice her fixing him with narrowed eyes and an unamused pout.

“Apologize,” he repeated. The gruff tone of his voice succeeded in hiding the playfulness behind his command.

Adrian’s hands twisted his blankets as he whimpered, “I’m sorry Papa.”

_Look at how pitiful he is, I almost can’t stand it_, Dracula thought adoringly. He felt his façade beginning to crack.

“Not to me,” he responded, gesturing his head towards his wife.

“Now that’s enough, Vlad,” Lisa chastised. She settled next to Adrian and combed her fingers through his fair hair. “He doesn’t need to apologize; he only needs to understand.”

Dracula laughed heartily. “Come now Lisa, I was only joking with the boy, isn’t that right my son?” He winked at him. Adrian visibly brightened and nodded his head fervently, relieved he wasn’t in any actual trouble.

“That’s right, mama, papa was only playing.”

She shook her head. “Alright, alright, that’s enough hysterics out of the two of you.” For the final time, she tucked Adrian back into bed, expecting him to stay put. A glow from outside caught her attention, so she glanced towards the window. Her lips pursed. “Good heavens, the sun is already rising.”

The room was momentarily tinged with the soft hues of golden sunlight before Dracula drew the curtains closed.

“Doesn’t the sunlight harm you, papa?”

“Not entirely,” he answered, trekking back to the opposite side of the bed. “I can walk freely during the day, but if I stay in direct sunlight for too long then I’ll suffer from unbearable headaches. It’s quite irksome, so I avoid it as much as I can.”

The bed creaked as he sat upon it, and his brow rose as he placed a finger to his chin, momentarily in thought. "Come to think of it, there is a spell —"

Quickly, Lisa swatted her husband’s shoulder. "No spells!" she warned, rousing mischievous snickers from Dracula and Adrian.

He cleared his throat and continued. “Anyway, there are countless other vampires who cannot endure the sun like I, so they seek the security of the night.”

Adrian beamed, finally understanding. “Like Cho and Godbrand?”

“Yes, like Cho and –” he groaned in disgust – “Godbrand.”

Lisa’s shoulders shook as she laughed, knowing all too well the contempt her husband held for his red-haired general. Once her laughter subsided, she took the opportunity to educate her son. “You are very young, Adrian, so your body is in the process of growing and developing. You aren’t like other children, human or vampire.”

His brow furrowed as he cast his eyes downwards. “Yeah, I know.”

Dracula tilted his chin upwards and tried encouraging him with a small smile. “That is not a bad thing,” he softly reassured.

Lisa hummed in agreement. “Your father is right. You are very special, darling, and you must treat your body appropriately, especially during this time. You have two halves to maintain, and we want you to be able to balance both. As you get older, you’ll be able to adjust to whichever sleep schedule your circumstances demand. But, for now your vampire side is needing a bit more attention. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mama.”

Lisa frowned slightly, noticing the sadness still apparent in his voice. She embraced him tightly. “There is nothing wrong with you, my love.”

Tears clouded Adrian’s vision. “D-do you mean it?”

“Of course I do! Don’t think of yourself so lowly Adrian, you’re wonderful.” She pulled back to gaze at her son lovingly, her own eyes beginning to feel the familiar sting of tears.

Dracula placed a soothing hand against his wife’s back and the other on his son’s shoulder. “You are a part of your mother and also a part of me, Adrian, would you have it any other way?”

The boy gasped as if he had just witnessed a murder. “No! Never!”

Dracula’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Neither would we,” he replied, gently wiping the tears from his son’s flushed cheeks.

Next, Lisa planted a brief kiss against his forehead and said, “we love you as you are Adrian, never forget that.”

He sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the balls of his fist. “I won’t.”

“Good boy,” she cooed. After ruffling his hair playfully, Lisa rose concurrently with her husband.

“Now, try to get some sleep, my dear —” she leaned in closer to his ear and whispered “— I think your father is getting cranky.”

“I heard that, Lisa.”

Adrian giggled as he watched his mother stick her tongue out at his father childishly. His crying was enough to drain the last remnants of energy from his little body, so he yawned and snuggled closer into the pillow. The sound of his parents’ footsteps walking towards the door lulled him to sleep…

_Thunk!_

Alucard blinked as if in a daze. With knitted brows, he looked down to notice that the tip of his boot had hit the first riser of the castle’s steps.

_Ah,_ he thought, _I’m home_.

He glanced behind himself and narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the area. He couldn’t remember when he descended from his flight, but he surmised that he must’ve walked for quite a while. At least enough to get so caught up in his thoughts. With a shake of his head he ascended to the entrance, a stubborn ember of hope burning in his chest. The doors opened automatically to warmly welcome its master home, but Alucard only felt a cold embrace. He paused once he crossed the threshold and waited with bated breath to sense that alien presence once again. For several moments he stood there, tilting his head to every possible sound he could hear resonate throughout the castle.

Each day since Mistress Death’s departure Alucard awoke to an overwhelming (but not unwelcome) sense of hope kindling within him. He suffered from boredom and was so starved for companionship that even a moment of idle talk with her was sure to satisfy him. Now and then he would sit in his father’s study in hopes that they’d cross paths again. What is more, he would sometimes rush his hunts and scramble back to the castle in case she ever showed up while he was gone. She never did.

For months he waited for her like a woman awaiting the return of her husband from war. And during these months, he battled the doubt that tried to snuff out his flame. It almost entirely won, but Alucard was stubborn, or desperate, or perhaps in denial.

_ She did say that she’d return, didn’t she?_

A small sound caused Alucard’s heart to leap in his chest, and immediately he turned his head to the cause of it. With eyes blown wide, his lips slightly parted, ready to utter the greeting he’d been yearning to say. However, it would’ve been wasted on a simple field mouse who was scurrying across the floor. Alucard stared at the mouse as it scampered past his boot and through the open entrance. The doors closed soon after, bottling Alucard inside as his anger threatened to burst forth.

* * *

_A damned mouse._

Alucard had just finished stripping and haphazardly folding his clothes before he tossed them rather sloppily onto the countertop. His hot bath was waiting for him, and the steam curled in the air like fingers beckoning him over. Despite his irritation, he wanted to allow himself to enjoy his bath. He liked bathing and did so earnestly and almost ritualistically. Growing up, his parents always taught him the importance of cleanliness, but within the first weeks of living alone, he neglected to bathe most days. He tried once but was struck with such an absurd influx of emotion that he hadn’t touched the faucet in weeks. It was somewhat of a crushing revelation when he realized just how deeply intertwined his parents were in his life. They were all he had in this world.

He sighed happily as he stepped into the water. When immersed, he rested his head against the edge of the porcelain tub, closed his eyes, and moaned as the water eased the tension in his body. He stayed like this for a few moments before rolling his head languidly to the side, watching as the sky brightened to welcome the sun. It couldn’t be deniable; the sunrise was beautiful, and its light golden rays streamed in through the window. However, Alucard was too tired to enjoy it. He blinked drowsily then sat up, not wanting to be tempted enough to fall asleep in the bathtub. He shoveled some salt scrub into the palm of his hand and began to rub it onto his skin, starting from his broad shoulder. He winced as he massaged a bothersome knot then worked his way down the expanse of his defined arm. The swishing sound of his body moving in the water, coupled with the circular motions he used, placed him into somewhat of a trance. He found his mind wandering unconsciously again to thoughts of Death, and his nostrils flared.

“It’s been six months,” he hissed, his scowl deepening.

He grabbed more salt scrub and rubbed his pectorals vigorously.

“Six. Damn. Months,” he said through clenched teeth.

His skin was starting to redden as his pace quickened. “I don’t understand does she not –!”

Blood.

Alucard gasped and looked down at his hand, which was stained with his blood. He rinsed himself, thankful that the wound was light enough to heal in a matter of seconds. His head settled back against the edge of the tub and he stared at the ceiling.

“Here I am, losing my mind again,” he muttered.

He dragged his hands down his face and groaned. “I’m being unreasonable. She’s _death_ for the love of God.”

Alucard slumped his shoulders and hunched forward. The empty gaze of his reflection stared back at him.

“What would she even want with me?”

He hugged his knees to his chest and tried to remain steadfast despite the doubt that crashed into him, like waves against a rocky shore.

_ “…you are all I have left of them. This world and those in it mean nothing to me, but you are the only exception.”_

His eyes softened as he remembered her words but did she truly mean them?

The first few months following Trevor and Sypha’s departure, he often wondered if he were worthy enough to return to? It was a thought that drove him insane, and he worked hard to bury it underneath a myriad of others; yet, it unearthed itself to rear its ugly head once more. But this time, he wondered if his companionship would be enough to fulfill the loneliness he and Mistress shared. He hoped it would and he hated that he hoped it would.

Alucard clenched his jaw and growled. He finished exfoliating his body with the salt scrub then grabbed his soap and towel. As he washed his neck and down his sculpted chest, the subtle smell of lavender penetrated his nostrils. He was hyper-aware of the slightly ticklish trail of soap suds that ran down his toned legs when he stood to wash more of his body. Bathing was second nature to him, so, unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to distract him from his troubling thoughts.

“Why should I desire her company anyway, don’t I deserve to be alone?”

It was as if Alucard were thrust back during his worst time, desperate and longing for someone…anyone. He didn’t want to feel this way. If he were so accepting of the punishment he believed he deserved, then he at least wanted to be content with it. The illusion of control he maintained was starting to shatter. He’s mistaken his avoidance as conquest and was foolish for thinking that he had made progress. After washing, he grasped the handle of a large pitcher and poured its water over his body and head. After, he squeezed some shampoo into his hands and began to knead his scalp. The feeling was nice, so he prolonged it for a minute more before carding his fingers through his wet hair. Once finished, he grabbed the pitcher again to rinse his hair and wrung out his wet strands like a soaked towel. The bathwater was beginning to become murky, so he pulled the plug and stepped out onto the cool tiles.

With the birds outside starting to sing, Alucard entertained the thought of living in this castle as somewhat of a fairytale. He was _essentially_ a prince after all.

He chuckled dryly. “Now all I need is a knight-in-shining-armor to come and rescue me.”

Thinking briefly of Trevor, he joked, “Either that or a hideous ogre.”

After toweling off and dressing in a loose nightshirt and pants, Alucard stood in front of the bathroom mirror to brush out his drying hair. He slipped back into his imaginings with a small smile.

“A vampire prince rescued from his tower by the beauty and her beast sounds like a tale for the ages.”

Smiles never lasted long for Alucard these days, and he frowned as he stared down at the brush in his hand.

“You and Sypha came to me before, so when will you come to me now?”

He shook his head and sighed tiredly, setting the brush down. “It’s no matter, I suppose.”

xXx

As he neared his bedroom door, Alucard’s ears immediately perked in high alert.

He slowed his pace to listen intently to what seemed like low humming. The sound was barely audible, even to his keen senses, but he managed to distinguish it as a feminine voice humming what he assumed to be a song. His stomach started to flutter in anticipation, and he was surprised and annoyed by how easy it was for his hope to return.

_Is it?_

He slowly reached for the doorknob but drew his hand back.

_ …No, it can’t be. _

He didn’t want to believe that Death returned because he feared that she wouldn’t be waiting on the other side. He didn’t want to surrender to hope again, so he tried to convince himself that he was going crazy. He was only imagining her voice, similar to how he imagined his mother and father’s, Trevor and Sypha’s.

Still, with his breath held he opened the door, and when he did, his breath caught in his tightened throat.

It was Mistress Death.

She was lounging... _right there_ on _his_ sofa.

She lifted her eyes from the book she was reading and closed it. Her posture straightened as she met Alucard’s saucer-like eyes with a gentle smile.

“Good morning.” She greeted him nonchalantly, her velvety voice reverberating throughout the room.

She held up the book and jested, “would you like to hear a bedtime story?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! Comments are always appreciated :)


	5. Chapter 5

Mistress Death watched Dracula weave in and out of the aisles of his grand library, amused by his exuberance. When he had contacted her earlier about the news he wished to share, his tone was enough to warrant some worry within her. However, she’d never guess it was due to the excitement of becoming a new parent. She would’ve laughed at his unusual jolliness, had it not been for the news he thrust upon her the moment she arrived.

Her eyebrows raised. “Pregnant?”

“Yes, I can hardly believe it myself!”

The pages of a massive book fluttered wildly as Dracula leafed through it. Dissatisfied with his findings, he huffed and shoved the book back in its place.

“It hadn’t occurred to me that Lisa would become pregnant,” he stated.

Mistress snorted. “Why? Too caught up in your passions?”

Dracula was tempted to roll his eyes but knew her well enough to not entertain her teasing. Her ability to provoke him had become easier with each passing century, but he was in too good of a mood today to catch her bait. However, she smirked despite his effort to ignore her, knowing that she had effectively annoyed him from the slight twitch of his brow.

Momentarily, he stroked his beard as he regarded the books that sat on the upper levels of the multi-tiered shelf. Then, he levitated himself to pursue one that had caught his eye.

“That is _not _what I was meaning, Mistress.”

“Explain yourself then, my friend,” she called up to him, flipping through a book that had grabbed her attention.

“I thought I was too…dead for such a thing,” he replied quietly, his eyes becoming vacant.

She looked up at him, slightly bewildered. “You know better than I to think of your kind as dead. Vampires are akin to a different species altogether.”

He shook his head and placed a book back on the shelf.

“You misunderstand,” he said patiently. Despite how primordial and eldritch she was, Dracula considered her lack of understanding as being oddly naive.

He walked in mid-air, running his fingers over the spines of the books absentmindedly.

“Did you know that Elisabetha desired to have children?”

A rhetorical question. Mistress Death knew everything about his former wife. He hardly reminisced on the past, so she only nodded to allow him to continue.

“We tried many times to conceive but it was all to no avail. She was barren — heartbroken,” he lamented.

Mistress lowered her eyes. “I see,” she muttered, closing her book and walking to him as he lowered himself to the floor.

“I believed that I had failed her because I couldn’t give her what she wanted most.” His tone was mostly stoic, but she recognized the sadness that swirled underneath. It caused her jaw to clench. 

She clutched his arm tenderly and held his gaze when he turned to look at her. Moved by her concern, a slight smile graced his lips, and he placed his hand over hers.

“I died when Elisabetha died, but things are different now. No longer do I feel like a phantom, passing through life.”

She hummed softly. “You certainly were the living dead after all then, I suppose.”

A soft chuckle bubbled from his throat. “Indeed, and I have Lisa to thank for raising me to life.”

Her heart leaped. “I am glad.”

They released one another and traversed down the aisle in comfortable silence. Dracula stole a curious glance at the book she was holding to her chest.

“Tell me, what has caught your interest?”

She snickered and handed it to him. “Oh, just a book of tales.”

The book was thick with a decorative, forest green cover. He opened it to reveal pages of beautifully illuminated manuscripts produced during the Late Antiquity period. His eyebrow arched as he skimmed these pages.

“I’ve spent a decent part of my night searching for a journal that has detailed the birth of a dhampir from the mother’s account. It is possibly the _only_ viable source of information for Lisa and me to reference, and you give me –” he narrowed his eyes “– a book of fairytales.”

She thrust her chin out. “I think you’ll find it quite useful,” she challenged.

He scoffed. “And how will this be of any use to me?”

“I’m hoping it’ll inspire you.”

He blinked slowly at her. “Come again?”

Gesturing dramatically, she overstated, “I’ve observed mortals enough to know the importance of storytelling. It’s a tradition that’s existed in many civilizations; forging connections amongst people and establishing bonds between parents and their children!”

As much as Dracula revered Mistress Death’s vast knowledge and power, her playfulness still baffled (and irritated) him at times. Yet, she was not always like this, and he briefly remembered how distant and menacing she was when they first met; her intangibility both marveling and alarming him. He couldn’t help the surge of warmth and pride that rushed through him as he thought of how comfortable and fond they’ve become of one another over these long centuries. However, instead of voicing his sentiments, he massaged the area between his eyebrows.

“I was foolish to believe you were truly attempting to help me,” he groaned.

She waved her hand dismissively.

“Oh please, I hope you don’t plan on preparing your child for bed by recounting tales of your damn, bloody conquests. Or even worse, singing to the poor child with that gruff voice of yours, ha!”

He closed the book and handed it back to her.

“Lisa happens to like my voice,” he retorted with mock hurt.

“Yes, well, she hasn’t known you as long as I have, my friend. She’ll tire of it eventually.”

“Hmph. I hope you’re wrong.”

“You needn’t worry–” she winked at him “– I’m certain I am.”

* * *

Her slender fingers traced the embellishments of the book cover delicately. It was weathered by time but no less beautiful, and to Mistress Death’s delight, opened frequently. She had a hunch that the book would still be in Alucard’s childhood room, but she had not dared to go there herself to look for it, so she sent one of her minions to fetch it for her. Just the thought of approaching that door was enough to seize her heart, and she did not want to spiral into another episode of uncontrollable crying. The last time she did, her eyes bled.

She opened the book and read with disinterest as she lounged on the plush sofa in Alucard’s room. Though she was a patient woman, she couldn’t help but clack her claw-like nails against the wooden arm of the couch from time to time, in anticipation of his arrival.

_Does it always take him this long to bathe? _She wondered briefly as she turned another page.

Her growing impatience was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable. With shifty eyes, she glanced at the door, despite knowing that he was still in the bathroom, brushing his hair.

_This is ridiculous_, she chastised herself.

To regain composure, she idly twirled some strands of her loose, white hair. A familiar poem had caught her eye, and she hummed it as she waited for Alucard.

xXx

Alucard swallowed, hard, and his chin trembled as his eyes became misty. The last thing he expected to see was Mistress Death, sitting so comfortably on his sofa as if she were an old acquaintance who visited often. His hopes had finally been realized. Here sat all who he had longed to see again, and yet, he was not elated. Her smile (he figured was meant to comfort him) only caused his blood to boil, and he squeezed his hand hard enough to warp the doorknob. With a scowl, he slammed the door behind himself as he stepped further into the room, pausing to stand by the other end of the sofa. Mistress stared at him, unblinking and unflinching, waiting for him to speak.

“Explain yourself,” he demanded. “Why have you come here?”

Her head cocked to the side, brow wrinkling. “Do you no longer wish to see me?”

“Consider me surprised that you’ve finally visited. It’s been six months.”

She brought her fingers to her lips to hide her creeping smile. "Oh, have you honestly been keeping track?” 

Alucard bristled. He deemed himself childish for his outburst but was powerless against the anger that had been mounting within him for months. He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but her distance had hurt him. After suffering from agonizing isolation for so long, the cries of his heart were finally heard, and in the greatest way possible. He couldn’t have prayed for a better companion: someone who understood him how no one else ever could. Lisa and Dracula were as intertwined with her as they were with Alucard, and because of this, they had both lost the same world. He assumed that she would’ve realized this, but her demeanor made him think that she did not care. He wanted to be acknowledged but felt ignored instead.

Alucard was tempted to bare his fangs, _is this nothing but a joke to her? _How humiliating. 

“I see nothing humorous about this, Mistress. I have waited day and night for your return –”

“And I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He scoffed and shook his head incredulously. “You treat this as nothing but a joke. I should’ve known better than to believe this was of any importance to you.”

She said nothing.

He huffed with irritation and crossed the floor to stand in front of the cold fireplace. “I assume it’s partly my fault for expecting so much of you.”

Her eyes fluttered, surprised by his admission. “What…did you expect of me?”

“To care,” he confessed solemnly whilst hanging his head.

Mistress chewed her lower lip and glanced away.

She predicted his anger but was unaware of how much her actions would hurt him. When she cast her eyes to him again, she no longer saw Alucard, but the silhouette of his father. Her chest tightened as she was reminded of the same misery that plagued Dracula – the living dead stood before her once again.

Immediately she was at Alucard’s side, gripping his arm tightly and gazing down at him intensely. He flinched violently and turned to Mistress in alarm. He was more startled by her gesture than the bruising strength she was exerting, and her gaze was so piercing that it made him recoil rather than feel consoled. Her eyes never wavered from his, but they appeared far away and almost pleading. It made goosebumps rise on his skin.

“Mistress,” he called.

She was silent for far too long, and Alucard began to fidget slightly, trying to pry his arm from her iron grip.

_What the hell? _

“Mistress Death,” he repeated louder, covering her hand with his.

She released a short gasp and beheld their hands with glistening eyes and a warm smile. After studying their embrace for a few seconds, her smile fell, and her head jerked back in confusion. She blinked rapidly, finally breaking from her stupor, and withdrew from him as if she had been burned.

He rubbed his arm with obvious annoyance. “What were you doing?” His tone was biting and curious.

She examined her hands like they were alien to her, then curled them to her chest. “I…I don’t know,” she replied with a quiet, breathy voice. “Comforting you, I think.”

“Comforting me…” he echoed slowly as if testing the honesty of her answer. Afterwards, he released a bitter laugh. “Why, out of pity?”

_Pity! _Her body went rigid. _How dare he think such a thing!_

It was tempting to argue her defense, so she pressed her lips together instead and shook with quiet anger. She was assaulted by his hostility and almost felt offended that he would think so lowly of her.

_Foolish child, I pity no one._

It seemed silly to her that such a small remark was enough to arouse her anger. Lately, she’s felt like an exposed nerve, sensitive to any stimulation, and it disturbed her by how easily she could be provoked. Ever since she started to _feel_, she’s slowly learned that it wasn’t just one emotion an individual could experience at any given moment, but many that bled into and branched from each other. She used to believe that nothing could compare to the ample weight of love and the emotions it invited. How quickly she was proven wrong on _that _fateful day. That day she grieved silently long before the night of Lisa’s death, and from that grief stemmed a multitude of other emotions that shook her to the core from their burdening intensity. Her reliance on apathy was no more, and she could never be what she once was: the indifferent entity. She was becoming something entirely different, something closer to _human_, and it paralyzed her with fear…

“Well?” Alucard’s impatient voice jerked her from her thoughts again.

His posture was stiff, and his nails were grounded into his palms. Though his expression was hard with eyes awash with restrained fury, they did not conceal his underlying despair.

_Is this where my hope will finally die, _he thought sadly,_ in the presence of Death herself? How ironic. _

If it wasn’t for Mistress standing before him, he would’ve broken down in tears to mourn the last shred of hope that has kept him alive. The control he was trying to maintain over his breathing was beginning to dwindle as it became harder to remain anchored within the torrent of heady turmoil.

"Sit with me,” Mistress said at last.

His eyes darted to the sofa quickly then back to her. His lip curled “Why? So you can belittle me some more?” 

She frowned, her heart sinking at his distrust. _This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. _

He was guarding himself because of her, and she mentally beat herself up for making things worse. Though, she had to admit that she probably deserved this. His loneliness was obvious to her, and yet she kept him waiting, only to show up and neglect him by making light of his feelings right out the gate. She felt so ashamed that she debated leaving but did not want things to fester any more than they already have.

“No,” she replied quietly. Her face became twisted with confliction, and after deciding to set aside her pride, her chest rose and fell with the release of a heavy breath.

Slack-jawed, Alucard stepped back as he watched Mistress Death with widened eyes. She raised the skirt of her dress and curtsied gracefully and deeply to him. Her head was bowed low enough for her hair to pool on the floor.

“I know that I’ve hurt you and for that I am sorry, truly I am. You are not obliged to forgive me, but I would be grateful if you did, Adrian.”

Her voice was strong and laced with sincerity. He was astounded by her apology but also touched. Even more, she caressed his name with hidden affection. It was barely noticeable but evident enough to make Alucard’s pale cheeks bloom a light pink, in remembrance of the first time she confessed her adoration of him with such rawness and authenticity:

_“…you are the only exception…” _

He clutched his chest, hand twisting in the fabric of his shirt as if the beating of his heart was threatening to bust him open.

When he felt that stubborn ember of hope become ignited by her words, he shed a tear, because it blazed brighter than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Elisabetha Cronqvist was Dracula's first wife while he was still human. 
> 
> Also, let me know what you think! What was your first impression of Mistress Death?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ringing Bell" is a Japanese animated film from 1978. It's one of my favorite movies and I wanted to incorporate it in this chapter. Enjoy!

“Do you remember this book?” Mistress asked as she handed it to Alucard.

He opened it and ran his fingers over the slightly textured pages. His eyes danced from one colorful illustration to the next; and, stories of animals, people, and other fantasy creatures sprung to life once more. Memories of his mother animatedly reading these tales as his father begrudgingly enacted them caused his eyes to twinkle with amusement. One such memory of his parents waltzing foolishly along to a story of a drunken king and his wife pulled Alucard’s lips into a fond smile.

“Yes, it’d be difficult to forget since this was the only thing that compelled my father to act like an utter fool.”

Having committed many of these stories to memory, he breezed through the pages in search of his favorite, intending to share it with Mistress.

“Look here,” he instructed, leaning in slightly towards her, extending the book out. When he felt vibrations through the cushions of the sofa, he looked at her in concern, thinking that she was crying. No, instead, she shook struggling to suppress her snickering. His eyebrows shot up as her eyes closed, and she erupted into melodic laughter that concluded with a pig-like snort. After, she cleared her throat and placed a hand on her chest.

“Pardon me” — she spurts a quick giggle — “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

Despite his initial surprise, he smiled. “No, that’s quite alright.”

With a voice full of mirth, she explained, “I couldn’t help myself, it seemed like such a sight to behold — the great and powerful Dracula, prancing around your room like a dunce.”

Alucard laughed himself, and it was a deep, vibrant laugh that rumbled in his chest and shook his shoulders. Hearing him caused Mistress to grip her knees as her stomach curled into knots.

_Is this the elation you felt when you realized Lisa was pregnant, Dracula? It killed you to be unable to conceive with Elisabetha, but with Lisa… _

Her lashes lowered as she watched Alucard.

_I wonder if you felt closure when Adrian was born; did you believe that you were making Elisabetha’s dream come true? Is this what you tried to describe as bringing you back to life: the fulfillment of longing?_

He wasn’t present to answer her questions, but somehow she knew the answers to them all were “yes”. She sighed, finally understanding. 

For the few seconds that Alucard laughed, Mistress was delighted since it seemed as if he were truly happy. She recalled the times when she brought a smile to the faces of Lisa and Dracula. A vivid, almost physical, illusion of them materialized beside Alucard. They appeared to be laughing together, and it filled her with joy; but then, the illusion glitched.

The trio still laughed, however, the acrid smell of burning wood invaded Mistress’s nostrils like a perfume. Lisa’s breathy laughter cross-faded into pained whimpers as she rubbed and scratched at her arms. Small flames arose from her arms and licked their way up and down her body. As these flames grew in size and intensity, so did the pungent smell of burning hair and flesh, strong enough to taste. Lisa pierced the air with her shrieks and pleading cries as she spasmed and clawed at her melting skin. Her skin fell from her body in pieces until eventually, it all sloughed away like flakes. Only her quickly disintegrating skeleton remained as Alucard and the illusion of Dracula continued chuckling.

Mistress squeezed her eyes shut and covered her mouth, feeling nauseous at the sight. She turned away and compulsively swallowed, attempting to keep her bile down.

_Why?_ She thought desperately. _Why must I keep seeing this! I don’t understand… Is this torture? _

Shutting her eyes did nothing to stop her from flinching at the sudden sound of splintering wood and the squelching of Dracula’s heart being pierced. He panted and his agonized groans made her jaw clench. She shuddered when he gurgled and choked as his throat and mouth overflowed with blood. Once his form decayed and collapsed like a pillar of sand, the only sound that remained was that of Alucard, whom she imagined sobbing into his trembling hands.

_Even in these small moments of happiness my pain still exists. I can’t ever escape the past because I keep reliving it! _

Mistress Death’s memory is like a record book: From the first man and monster to walk the Earth, to every being that's existed since then, their deaths have been cataloged in her mind the moment they occurred. These “death records” are as clear and fresh to her as the moment they happened; and, she could easily experience them firsthand if she willed it. (However, she’s only ever done so a few times because she was curious as to what pain felt like). She's always been indifferent about her ability, but now she regards it as a curse. Lisa and Dracula’s deaths were forever seared into her mind, and it took almost nothing to trigger the unwanted memories.

_How can I face Adrian each day? I can’t even look at him without —_

“You must enjoy laughing, are you doing so again?” Alucard teased.

She jumped at the sound of his voice and silently cursed, disgusted by how weak she felt. Not wanting to alarm him, she forced a smile and turned to answer him, but carefully avoided his eyes.

“Yes, I’ve always enjoyed laughing.” She purposely ignored his question because she didn’t want to lie. “Though, I haven’t had much to laugh at in quite a while.”

Alucard nodded. He was eager to connect with Mistress, but his voice was still tinged with melancholy.

“I understand all too well. I’ve grieved my parents’ deaths for so long that I can hardly remember the last time I laughed like that.” He traced the spine of the closed book. “It’s refreshing to think of them and laugh rather than cry, so” – he flashed her a smile – “I thank you, Mistress.”

She inclined her head stiffly and remained silent. Alucard’s smile fell as he watched her wring her hands together nervously in her lap. He wasn’t blind nor easily fooled, and immediately noticed her abrupt change in behavior when he started laughing. He hid his concern well and previously questioned her to gauge a reaction and confirm his suspicions. He didn’t mind that she evaded his question, alternately he was relieved that she chose to ignore it rather than lie. It indicated that she wanted his trust, and he wanted to give it and receive hers in return. Anyway, her face revealed all he needed to know: she was suffering. It was almost comical how easily he could see through her; she was wearing her emotions on her sleeve. It was odd to him that she was displaying her emotions so openly because he knew her to be a proud woman.

_She’s hurting — vulnerable — she won’t even look me in my eyes. What happened to her? Did I say something wrong? No, I hardly said anything at all. _

He wanted to be careful with how he approached her. He didn’t want to be direct and risk angering her, having her shut down completely, or worse, leaving; so, he weighed his options. Deciding to take her approach to things, he stretched his hand out to place on her arm, but she leaned away from his touch. It was suspended awkwardly between them momentarily before Alucard retracted it back to his side. Thoroughly embarrassed, he frowned and cast his gaze downward.

Mistress almost smiled at Alucard’s attempt to comfort her; it seemed so sweet. But, she didn’t want to be touched by him — she didn’t want his comfort. If she accepted it then it’d force her to confront her pain, and the thought alone was too much to bear; So, she buried her feelings in hopes that they’d stay hidden a little longer than last time. Returning to Alucard meant facing everything she’s tried to avoid, and it scared her. For the past six months, she had hoped that his yearning to see her would wane over time, but disappointedly, it only seemed to grow stronger. Despite this, her courage to visit him only built once it became impossible to deny that she wished to see him too. To her surprise, that small moment of joy between them was enough to ignite her desire to make him happy — always — as she wanted for Dracula. However now, with sadness in her heart, she figured that the best thing for her to do was end their interaction here and leave forever. She tried to urge herself to move, but when Alucard called her again, she froze.

She couldn’t bear this pain any longer, but knowing that he would be left to suffer alone again was enough to keep her rooted in place.

“It’s gotten pretty late into the morning,” she observed, oblivious to what Alucard was saying. She faced him and said with a mellow tone, “You should rest now.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, brow furrowing. She wasn’t wrong. He was tired and felt ready to collapse, but his wariness of her leaving is what kept him up. He felt as if he should savor this moment as long as he could because there was a possibility that she wouldn’t return. In a panic, he tried to think of excuses but came up short. They all sounded desperate and ridiculous.

“You can’t expect me to sleep now,” he jested, trying not to betray his dismay.

“That’s too bad. Maybe I should’ve read to you after all then.”

He huffed a dry laugh. “And what would you have read me?”

A sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Ringing Bell,” she answered softly.

He straightened immediately and stared at her in disbelief. _Ringing Bell? _

Mistress giggled at Alucard’s attempt to hide his surprise behind a more impassive expression. He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes. “Is that so? You must’ve noticed me turning to it then.”

“Not at all. I know it’s a favorite of yours because your father mentioned it to me once before.”

His eyebrows rose as he lifted his head to regard her. “Did he?”

“Oh yes, he spoke about you often…a little _too _often if you ask me,” she informed, rolling her eyes.

Alucard’s laugh was breezy.

Afterward, he blinked tiredly at the fireplace as he reminisced: “Ringing Bell was the only bedtime story my father read to me alone. It was darker than the other stories, and I remember asking him to read me another before he even finished it.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners before his tone grew solemn. “It was about a happy little lamb, who sought revenge for his mother’s death at the hands of the Wolf King. When the little lamb finds the king, he’s too weak to kill him, so he becomes his apprentice instead. No longer did he want to be a weak lamb, but a strong wolf. In the process, he forgets his home, his kind, and becomes a vicious killer. Eventually, he kills the wolf but he had to become what he hated to destroy it. When he tried to return home, he was rejected by the other sheep. And in the end, he was alone forever.”

Frowning deeply, Alucard continued, “My father lived long enough to know of the evil human hearts could possess, and how an evil heart can corrupt. He wanted me to know the same and taught me the duality of man when I was young. I respected him because he didn’t do it to instill fear in me, but to warn me…protect me, since knowledge was freedom and power in his eyes.”

He placed a hand over his scar. “He said to me: Never hold resentment or rage inside; it corrupts your heart, your soul. You’ll become a monster. And yet…” 

The memory of his father’s bulging eyes and bared teeth flooded his mind. Dracula’s once soothing and baritone voice was now one that dripped hatred and venom:

_“That woman was the only reason on Earth for me to tolerate human life…There are no innocents! Not anymore!”_

Alucard’s face quickly warped into one of anger. He stood suddenly and exclaimed, “It’s funny how the old man couldn’t follow his own damn advice!”

He hurled the book at the window across the room. With a swift raise of her hand, Mistress Death froze the book in mid-air telekinetically. Without breaking attention from him, she summoned the book to her hand and set it on the cushion of the sofa. Alucard’s chest heaved and his hands were balled into tight, shaking fists.

He spoke with short breaths in between. “Excuse me…I’m sorry…I - I didn’t mean…” He shook his head and sat down, shoulders slumping. “Why…why would he tell me such a thing if…” He broke off into a quiet sob.

Though Mistress was quiet, and her expression remained stoic, she was compelled by his anguish and rested her hand over his.

With a gentle voice, she said, “Dracula was aware of how deeply his hatred and rage ran in himself. He saw Lisa reflected in you and wanted you to be more like her in every way. He was warning you because he believed that if you were to be corrupted, part of her would be as well.”

Alucard gasped and looked at her. His stare gave her pause; she felt arrested by the sheer vulnerability swimming behind his golden eyes. At that moment, he resembled a child seeking the comfort of his mother, and she was tempted to hold him... but resisted.

She rose and made her way towards the door. Alarmed, he reached for her again as if she were the light at the end of a tunnel.

“Mistress,” he blurted out. _Please, don’t go._

“Hush. It’s alright, get some sleep. I’ll be here when you awaken.”

He hesitated, not quite believing her.

“You have my word, Adrian,” she avowed. _Trust me._

He nodded. “Alright.”

Mistress stood outside his closed door and listened to the faint sound of the creaking bed and rustling sheets. When she was certain he was asleep, she lifted the skirt of her dress slightly, to step over some debris as she drifted down the hall.

_It’s decided then._ She released a long sigh. _I’ll endure this pain; I’ll endure it all…for him._


	7. Chapter 7

The sun had barely dipped below the horizon, coloring the landscape black with shadows. The brilliant red, orange, and yellow hues of sunset bled away to the purple and blue shades of dusk, and once the sky was finally tinted black, the moon and the stars cast their white light upon the land. A sliver of moonlight crept through the slightly open curtains of Alucard’s massive window, casting a bar of pale light only across his eyes. He groaned a little as he shifted in his sleep, feeling a heaviness settle within his body due to the fading remnants of exhaustion. Though he was waking, he felt himself being pulled back into slumber. He almost always indulged himself with a few extra hours of sleep but resisted this time when he remembered that Mistress Death was here…waiting for him.

The prospect of being able to see her again excited him and caused his body to surge with adrenaline. He opened his eyes just a touch and squinted when they were penetrated by the moonlight. Lifting his hand to block the white beam, Alucard became conscious enough to perceive another presence in the room beside his bed, towering over him. For a moment he thought it to be Mistress Death, who was here to wake him, and his lips curved upwards into a small smile. He blinked once, twice, to rid his eyes of blurriness as he watched the shadowy silhouette of a hand creep down towards him. When it came close enough to see clearly, Alucard bristled in alarm. In one swift movement, he leaped from his bed and called for his sword. It whirled rapidly towards him, creating the illusion of a spinning fan, slicing through the air dangerously and effectively dismembering the strange figure. Besides a grunt of surprise, the figure did not scream in pain, nor growl in rage. Instead, its shoulders drooped as it released a heavy, agitated groan and stared at the twitching arm, laying in a pool of dark blood on Alucard’s pillow (as if losing a limb were a regular occurrence). Alucard tensed as the figure muttered in an alien tongue under its breath and reattached its arm easily.

He pointed his sword at the figure and fixed it with a chilling glare.

“I do not take kindly to night visitors,” he threatened, beginning to slowly circle around the bed, his stare nor his sword wavering. 

Though it was dark, Alucard could see the figure perfectly:

It appeared as an uncanny, humanoid abomination that seemed as if it were trying to pass as a human and yet failed. It stood in a slumped position that betrayed its true height, as such having to be a few inches above seven feet. Its head was small, and the skin of its face looked leathery. Furthermore, the only resemblance of a face it had were two hollow sockets for eyes, their shape indicating a melancholic expression. It had a slight bump for a nostril-less nose and no visible mouth. Weirdly, its head was attached to a disproportionately thick neck which led down to broad shoulders. The charcoal grey skin of this figure was stretched tightly over a dry, skeletal-like body, and its arms and legs were disturbingly long. Its hands were large with fidgeting, claw-like fingers, and from its forearms to its fingers, its skin was drenched in a slick, black substance — as if it pulled its arms out of a vat of oil. The strangest thing, however, was its bare, chalky white, clownish feet.

“You are unlike any demon or creature I’ve ever seen.” His lip curled in disgust. “What are you?” he demanded, beginning to summon blue flames to bless his blade.

The figure faced Alucard and responded with a deep, droning voice that rumbled at the end of every word.

“I mean you no harm,” it assured, placing a hand to its chest. “I am merely a servant of my mistress, Death.”

He lowered his weapon somewhat, eyes narrowed. “She sent you here?”

It nodded. “Yes. She did not wish for you to wake up alone.”

Unconvinced, he raised his sword once again. “I find it odd that she decided to send you in her stead if that were the case.”

“Mistress simply didn’t want to ruin your surprise,” the figure informed plainly before trudging to the windows to open the curtains.

Alucard’s eyebrows rose for a brief moment before creasing back down into a frown. “My surprise?”

“Yes. In the kitchen.”

He glanced behind himself at the closed door, studying it for a moment as if an answer would etch itself onto the hardwood. “The kitchen?” _What could she be doing in there? _

When he turned back, he watched the figure push open the last curtain, allowing the room to become saturated with as much moonlight as possible. His head cocked to the side as it also seemed to gaze almost longingly at the moon. Alucard hummed in a contemplative manner and released his sword to sheathe itself, concluding that this thing posed no threat to him. As he headed towards the wardrobe to rummage for some clothes, memories from the morning slowly began to seep their way into his consciousness. This morning was the first time in a long time he had laughed like that, and it just felt so…_good_. His childhood book was like a key to unlocking the fondest memories of his parents. Which were buried, no doubt, under the burdensome weight of their deaths, and Alucard was sure he had many more tender memories desperately begging to not be forgotten. It seemed so easy to liberate himself wholly of his grief, simply by wandering the castle in search of tokens from his happy past. Though, most things he’s come to find out are easier said than done.

_Like killing my father_, he thought grimly.

His hands shook slightly in memory of him, and his outburst from this morning had not fully extinguished the flames of his anger. He was glad about it because he wasn’t finished screaming yet. Alucard had half the mind to blame his father for everything but knew that he could not, because he understood his grief. Despite the awareness that his father was in the wrong, it was also apparent that he was crying out in his own way, and it was silent to all except for Alucard. Perhaps he was ignorant of how deeply his father’s hate for humanity ran, and for a quick second, his heart sank at the thought of his parent’s love not being enough to save him from a hardened heart.

“Alucard.”

He blinked his eyes back into focus and turned his head. “Yes, what do you wa—”

His words caught in his throat as he beheld the eerie line of a mouth drag itself across the figure’s face, but even if it now grew one, it still did not move it to speak.

“She wishes to speak to you.”

After quickly collecting himself Alucard answered, “Right. Well, convey to her that I’ll be down promptly.”

It shook its head. “No, she wishes to speak now.”

With that, the figure’s mouth stretched to the points where its ears should be. It grunted and groaned as the sickening pops and breaking of its jaw resounded through the room when its mouth opened and stretched the figure’s face as if it was formed from putty. Alucard’s eyes widened to the size of saucers when its mouth solidified into a dark, cave-like shape with rows of sharp, white teeth glinting like pearls. Despite this, what truly drenched Alucard in a cold sweat was the appearance of Mistress’s head that emerged from the wet cavern of the figure’s mouth. Her face was smeared with a dark substance, and when she opened her large eyes, they shone brightly against the darkness. As she stared at him, her lips pursed, and she released a disappointed sigh.

“I expected you to be dressed by now.” 

Alucard gaped unable to understand how, or better yet, _why?_

“Are…are you covered in blood?”

Mistress gasped. “Ah, am I? Forgive me, I haven’t done this in a while.”

He shook himself out of befuddlement, pinching the area between his eyes as he concluded that things this strange were to be expected from here on out. Though, a part of him couldn’t deny that it was a welcome change to the mundanities of his everyday life.

Mistress spoke in an alien tongue then commanded in English, “Move forward, Itzhak.”

He groaned.

“To the wardrobe, yes,” she responded.

Alucard’s eyebrow quirked upward as he stepped aside when Itzhak’s hand shooed him away from the wardrobe doors. “What on Earth are you doing?”

The sound of hangers scraping against the wooden rod accompanied Mistress’s contemplative hums as Itzhak pushed each garment aside. “It amazes me that a man who seems to wear the same outfit every day has a problem with dressing quickly and efficiently. Ugh, there is nothing but white shirts and black pants in here!”

Exasperated, Mistress had Itzhak turn his body so she could face Alucard again. His stance paired with the disapproving gleam in her eyes reminded Alucard of the way his mother used to look when she was about to scold him for some silly wrongdoing, and strangely he felt the urge to laugh.

“Honestly, you make it very difficult to be patient, Adrian.” She pushed her lower lip out into a dramatic pout and slowly batted her saddened eyes. “I almost think that you no longer wish to see me,” she whined.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic I still want to see you.” Staring down at the shirt in his hands, he rubbed the fabric between his fingers absentmindedly. “I’m…actually surprised that you stayed.”

“Well, I did promise that I wouldn’t leave, and my promises can always be trusted.”

He met her eyes with a gentle smile, and a short, comfortable silence fell between them before Itzhak grunted and retched, dark blood beginning to drip from his mouth.

Mistress cleared her throat. “You’re right, Itzhak, we should give him some privacy.”

“I’ll be sure to make haste,” Alucard promised.

“I’ll be waiting then.”

She spoke again in that strange language, and Itzhak groaned in response. When she disappeared back into the void of his mouth, his face morphed back to its original form, and he swayed slightly before walking steadily out of the bedroom. When he left, the laugh Alucard was holding back earlier erupted as a low chuckle under his breath, the thrilling evening ahead making him giddy with anticipation.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write so I hope it shows, and more than that, I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Also, in case you were curious, Alucard is 6'2"; Mistress Death is 6'8"; and Itzhak is 7'3". So we've got a smol, a tol, and a very tol <3

The kitchen was warm when Alucard walked into it, almost to the point of being stuffy, and the odor of burning wafted through the air. Despite this, his eyes widened slightly in awe as he looked overhead at the many candles hovering in midair, softening the space with a peaceful, orangish glow. Which was accented by the blue moonlight filtering in through the windows. It seemed magical, and he smirked at the gesture, but as enchanting as it looked, it could not distract from the mess made of the kitchen. Pots and pans were stacked haphazardly in the sink, food and other substances decorated the countertops and shelves in splotches, and the once tidy cabinets were open and wildly rummaged throughout.

“What a wonderful surprise,” Alucard muttered under his breath. He rubbed the aggravated knot that was already beginning to form in the back of his neck. The careful organization and storage of recipes, ingredients, and food were dismantled in hours, and it made his eye twitch. However, what caused him to blanch was the whispered sound of Mistress giggling as she spoke with Itzhak. They were observing the handstitched dolls Alucard had placed on a low shelf.

“Don’t look at those,” he blurted out, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Ah, Adrian, there you are,” Mistress replied as she and Itzhak rose to their full heights to gaze down at him.

Alucard immediately noticed that she was dressed differently: For one, she wore no cloak, and her chained belt was missing but the amulet remained draped around her neck. Her new dress was still long and fitted her form but was off-shoulder and a muted blue color. The neckline dipped into a sweetheart pattern that almost revealed the line of her bust, and the sleeves remained dramatic and medieval-like. Her long, white hair was styled into cornrows at the front of her head that then dispersed into a bouquet of kinky curls starting at the middle. Furthermore, the two braids that hung forward on each side of her head were decorated at the end with silver beads.

He already considered her beautiful. Only now, she looked more welcoming, and maybe even slightly happier. Had it not been for the mess he knew she made, nor the humiliation he felt at having his dolls discovered, he would’ve complimented her.

“Itzhak and I were just admiring your cute, little dolls.” Reaching out, she grabbed them both in her hand. “They look just like Belmont and the Speaker girl. You’re so creative, Adrian. Isn’t that right, Itzhak?”

He nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”

Alucard shook his head. “You really are laying the compliments on thick; these are hardly impressive.”

He suppressed the urge to groan as he saw the way Mistress placed them back on the shelf. They were slouched over sadly and set too far apart from each other for his liking. Therefore, he approached the dolls rather quickly to fix their positions and lamented as he did so. “This castle was a lonesome, unfriendly place when Trevor and Sypha left, and I admittedly went a little mad when they were gone. These are just dolls but most days they were all I had to talk to.”

Once perfect, Alucard stepped back to admire his handiwork, a small smile tugging on his lips when memories of their playful bickering began to resurface.

“That’s pathetic,” Itzhak deadpanned. 

An irritated growl ripped its way from Alucard’s throat as his head turned sharply to glare at the creature. His hands itched with the temptation to tear him apart, but if his earlier reaction to losing an arm were anything to go by, it’d hardly faze him in the slightest.

“Well, it needn’t be that way if they hadn’t left,” Alucard exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at the dolls as his forehead wrinkled in frustration. In the awkward silence, little Trevor and little Sypha toppled forward slightly, as if they were bowing in forgiveness. He immediately noticed and grumbled as he moved to fix them in upright positions again.

Itzhak muttered “_pathetic_” in his alien tongue then looked to Mistress Death for her response…but, she had none. Instead, she stood rigidly and looked upon Alucard with a face etched with sorrow and guilt. Her eyes began to moisten with blood, tinging the white sclera pink and then red, as her bloody tears welled and threatened to spill. It was an intense look Itzhak had not seen since the night of Alucard’s birth, and it caused him to gasp, “My Mistress!” with a voice tainted by some flicker of worry. Slightly alarmed, she perked up and batted her eyes to return them to normal and acknowledged him.

“What is it?”

“The…surprise—”

“Yes,” Alucard interjected, “what is my surprise?” He faced them with his arms crossed after finishing with his task. “Because I am somewhat underwhelmed and quite frankly annoyed. The candles are a nice touch but, I can see that you’ve cleaned yourself up better than my kitchen.”

Mistress rolled her eyes skyward. “Ugh, you are a true Tepes man at heart, so dramatic.”

With that, she snapped her fingers, causing a visible shockwave to surge from them and spread rapidly outward. Consequently, the cabinets and windows rattled somewhat, and the ground shook slightly, but overall the kitchen was no longer in disarray. Alucard lowered the arm he raised to shield his face and gripped his chin as he surveyed the room, humming thoughtfully. Aside from the candles that still hovered overhead, everything seemed cleaned and in its proper place. Even that weird burnt smell was gone.

“There, is that better?”

Alucard arched a brow then brushed past her, headed towards one of his spice cabinets. He had a complex system when it came to the organization of his spices; one that took him days to figure out the best catalog that suited his cooking methods and palate, and he’d be damned if it was all thrown to the wind. He sifted through that cabinet and two others, checking the labels and positions of different spices to make sure everything was indeed in order. Once everything checked out, he released a satisfied sigh and answered, “Yes, much better.”

“Splendid! Now, come sit. Itzhak, pull out a chair for him!”

“Right away, Mistress.”

Alucard nodded his head in thanks when Itzhak pushed him comfortably up to the table. He had a sneaking suspicion of what to expect, and his mouth formed an “o” when it was confirmed. Mistress carefully set a lidded plate and silverware down in front of him, shyly confessing, “I could’ve used magic or simply summoned a chef from the Outerworld, but I wanted to do things myself.”

Alucard’s warm smile soothed any uncertainty she had regarding his surprise, and she felt more confident with her dish. Her body practically buzzed with excitement as she envisioned how pleased he would look as he ate. She became so eager by these thoughts that she almost wished to stuff his mouth full of food herself! However, she silently scolded herself for thinking such things.

_Okay, that’s a little too far. What am I, insane? I need to control myself. It’s only food, but —_

“How considerate, thank you, Mistress,” Alucard said, picking up his fork and knife. “I can hardly remember the last time someone has cooked for me, so I can’t wait to dig in.”

She beamed. “Perhaps I can do so again if this meal satisfies you?”

He chuckled lightly. “A tempting offer.”

When she finally lifted the lid, Alucard’s glowing face quickly became cast with a shadow of disgust and confusion. He tried to mask his repulsion with delight, but his furrowed brows and tense, awkward grin betrayed his true feelings. Fortunately for him, due to Mistress Death’s initial excitement, she was none-the-wiser to his first impression of her dish. Itzhak, on the other hand, stood beside her, watching the dhampir closely and softly droning as if in thought. Briefly, Alucard wondered how a being without much of a face could appear so judgmental?

“Well,” Mistress clasped her hands together, “what do you think?”

He poked nervously at the food, examining it with a critical eye. Two unevenly sized chicken breasts sat pitifully atop a mucousy mass of some unknown substance. The chicken was wrapped in what Alucard assumed was mozzarella cheese. It was spotted with pools of reddish oil and stretched thin enough to appear transparent in some areas, revealing the pinkish color of the chicken breasts underneath.

“Ah, chicken,” he commented with a shaking voice and wrinkling nose, “one of my favorites.”

He pushed the poultry aside to dig through the reddish-brown, slimy stuff below. It looked like a massive tumor of maggots, and when he tried to separate it, it pulled apart in gooey strands.

_Oh Lord, please. _

Alucard was never one to pray over his food before, but now he was beginning to consider asking for some divine intervention. The texture of this stuff alone was enough to make him feel sick, so he didn’t want to imagine how it’d taste. For a moment, he gaped wordlessly at it before clearing his throat. “And what might this be?”

“Jewel worms! They’re considered a delicacy amongst the elven folk in the Outerworld. I only hope I prepared them correctly.”

“I see,” he responded, hoping that his dread didn’t seep too far into his tone. “And what are they supposed to taste like?”

To Alucard’s dismay, she shrugged. “Unfortunately, I would not know. I only followed the recipe once Itzhak brought me the ingredients.” 

The maggots themselves sat upon a pile of a thick, gray mush freckled with bits of muted colors. Furthermore, the mush rested in a puddle of runny sauce that resembled muddy water.

As if reading his mind, Mistress explained, “those are mashed potatoes.”

He squinted his eyes to peer closer at it. “What are these speckled bits inside of it?”

“Maybe if you try it instead of asking me, you’d soon find out,” she answered with a wink.

He knew she was only teasing, but as vile as the food looked, her words seemed more like a threat. Even before tasting it, Alucard knew that this dish would be the worst thing he’s ever eaten, and yet, he still wanted to try it. While the glee that twinkled in Mistress Death’s eyes wasn’t enough to convince him that what she made was of any good, it was enough for him to know that she genuinely wished to present him with something she thought would make him happy. It was more than he could’ve asked for, and he couldn’t possibly reject her kindness, no matter how wretched her food was. After steeling himself with a deep breath, he gathered a piece of everything onto his fork and ate.

xXx

“You killed him.”

Mistress clicked her tongue. “Hush! I did not kill him,” she hissed, making Itzhak squirm underneath her murderous glare. The seconds ticked by, and her deadly stillness paired with a chilling silence conveyed a level of anger and threat of violence that was enough to wrench a deep, apologetic bow from his body.

“I was careless with my speech,” he quavered, then added in his alien tongue, “_Forgive me, my Mistress!_” 

At his words, Mistress sighed in approval, stepping away from him. “I can hardly fault you, Itzhak —” she placed her hands on either side of Alucard’s head and lifted it from the table “— he does look quite…dead.”

A mess of food dirtied his face, and some jewel worms even managed to tangle themselves in the strands of his golden hair. With a huff, Mistress lazily waved her hand, magically removing the mess from his face and hair. Next, she effortlessly lifted him into her arms bridal style and turned to Itzhak. A pang of sympathy hit him as he awaited instructions from Mistress. Though her happiness earlier was not a façade, it was draining for her to be around the dhampir. The slight tremor of her arms was evidence of how tired she was becoming, and her once bright eyes had faded to a dying glow.

_It’s almost as if she’s making herself sick…but why, my Mistress?_

“Take him to his chambers. I don’t know when he’ll awaken, but it shouldn’t be that long. My cooking can’t be _that_ bad,” she said bitterly, the realization of her failure beginning to sully her pride.

Once Alucard was carefully placed in his arms, he started to make his way towards the exit. The clinking of dishes led him to believe that Mistress Death was attempting to prepare another course, but when he turned around to acknowledge another command, he was surprised to see a teapot in her hand.

Unable to suppress his curiosity any longer, Itzhak remarked, “I do not wish to see you this way, my Mistress. Why do you endure for the Tepes boy?”

“You should have intimate knowledge as to why I endure this pain for Adrian — I wish to make him happy. It wasn’t too long ago in your life that you’ve also endured for someone you claimed to love,” she ended with a sneer.

_Empathy_, Mistress Death thought, _do I want Itzhak’s just for the sake of being understood, or do I not want to be seen as a fool?_

He grunted in remembrance and countered, “Devotion led to my downfall. I am what I am today because I desired to endure for the sake of another.”

She laughed, the pitch of her voice rising in bewilderment. “Is that what this is about, you believe Adrian would betray me?”

Her eyes flashed dangerously when she faced him fully. “I think you’ve forgotten _what_ I am,” she warned, an inhuman growl crisping the edge of her words. A mysterious light breeze began to push against the fire of the candles above.

Despite this, he courageously pressed on. “I have not forgotten, nor do I believe that the dhampir will betray you.”

Mistress snorted and turned her attention to the teapot in front of her. “Then why waste my time with such musings?”

“Because I know you are hurting! Your body shakes with weariness, my Mistress, and your eyes cloud with blood!”

She was rendered silent and lowered her head. The candle flames also started shivering more violently.

“I also wonder…” He glanced down at Alucard’s handsome face then back to her, “…if your desire to make him happy only stems from your guilt?”

Mistress Death’s head whipped towards Itzhak with as much swiftness as the instantaneous snuffing of the candlelight by the mysterious wind. Her eyes were wild and glassy with tears, and her teeth were bared but non-threatening; she looked deranged.

_Cry_, _cry, cry, _she urged herself. But, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Instead, she spoke with a cracking voice, “You never lost what I did…you cannot see what I do. I hurt in a way that you do not understand, and because of that, I…I am...”

_Alone._

In her distress, she wished that Alucard would awaken because she wanted to talk with someone who understood. Furthermore, at this moment, when her stubbornness and pride were weak, she desired the strength to pour everything in her heart out to him. She realized that this must be the pain of loneliness, and her body started to ache from it.

_ Is this the real reason why I stay? Because I’m as lonely as Adrian? _

Mistress turned her back on Itzhak as she attempted to control her labored breathing. With a quiet but even voice, she said, “Take Adrian to his chambers, then complete the other task which I’ve commanded you.”

He sighed and nodded. “As you wish, Mistress.”

When he left, she tried to bury her feelings once again as she clutched the teapot tightly to her chest. The only thing that kept her from shattering it in her grip was that it once belonged to Lisa.

* * *

Alucard’s eyes opened slowly. His mind was hazy, so he kept still and stared above at the wispy, white curtains of his canopy bed, waiting to remember what had happened to him.

_Itzhak. Surprise. Mistress. Food — ah, that’s right. I must’ve blacked out after I ate her food._

He shivered at the memory and became nauseated by the lingering taste in his mouth. As he stood and made his way to the door, it didn’t take him long to put two and two together. He knew that either Mistress Death or Itzhak carried him back to bed, and when he opened the door, he was greeted by the latter.

“You are awake,” Itzhak commented in monotone.

“Yes, how long was I unconscious?”

The creature raised a bony finger to his chin and droned. “About an hour from the last time you were awake.”

Alucard’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

“While I carried you up the stairs, you awoke suddenly and vomited, then passed out again.”

He cringed at that. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to cause you such trouble.”

“I have dealt with worse.”

With Itzhak in close step behind him, Alucard made his way to the bathroom.

He glanced behind himself and rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to follow me.”

“I don’t want to, but Mistress has commanded me to keep watch over you, in case you pass out again.”

“How thoughtful of her,” he mumbled.

Once he made it to the bathroom, he quickly shut the door behind him before Itzhak had a chance to step inside; But, almost jumped out of his skin when he turned around to see him standing in the middle of the room.

He growled, “Does she intend for you to babysit me while I piss as well?”

Itzhak scratched his head. “She didn’t specify—”

“Get out.”

xXx

This time, the kitchen was colder and darker when Alucard stepped into it. The candles were gone, so the only light that illuminated the space was the moonlight that poured in from the windows. Mistress sat at the table stock-still with her hands surrounding a steaming cup of tea, and her eyes were closed as if she were sleeping. Alucard hummed in thought and sat next to her, spotting the cup of tea that was waiting for him. Mistress didn’t notice when he sat down, nor when Itzhak materialized into the kitchen, and it caused the dhampir to worry. Something was amiss with her, and he didn’t like it.

He cupped her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Mistress?”

When she opened her eyes, they were pitch black, and after she blinked, they returned to normal. “Adrian, it’s nice to see that you’re awake. Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, thank you. Are you alright?”

She merely nodded.

“What were you doing?”

She stirred the tea in her cup distractedly. “Just thinking.”

“Of?”

“Death,” she replied matter-of-factly before taking a sip.

He removed his hand from her shoulder and grimaced. “How very fitting,” he said dryly.

After a few moments, she gestured to his teacup. “I found these neglected at the back of your cabinet.”

Alucard huffed a laugh as he traced the golden rim of the floral teacup with his finger. “I was never much of a tea drinker. I only ever drink it when visiting with witches in Arges — my mother, on the other hand, was a different story.”

At this, her voice grew lively. “Oh, I know. Day and night, Lisa would drink it. She was practically addicted!”

“Indeed, she was,” he laughed.

Fondness sparkled in Mistress’s eyes as she traced the designs on the saucer. “This set was a gift from me for one of Lisa’s wedding anniversaries. We used to drink tea all the time together in the castle garden.”

“Really?”

Alucard angled his body slightly closer to her as if he’d hang on better to every word she said this way. His heart warmed at the mention of another speaking so tenderly about his mother. And, he hoped that Mistress would continue speaking of her recollections, for both of their sakes.

“Your mother was always polite enough to drink the tea I prepared. No matter how sweet or how bitter it ended up, she at least took a sip. However, I did get better overtime…with her help of course.”

The pleasant smile she flashed him was contagious.

“I took the liberty of having Itzhak retrieve your mother’s favorite tea flavor from the Outerworld — It’s called Rose of Sharon. I prepared it just as she would’ve liked it. Try some.”

The confidence she had in the drink was assuring, so Alucard did not hesitate to bring the cup to his lips. He was delighted by its floral aroma, which enhanced the sweet and fresh taste. Drinking the tea felt somewhat nostalgic since it reminded him of the perfume his mother used to wear. Oddly, the times he used to spend in the garden with his father, studying botany, also flooded his memory.

“Mmm,” he moaned softly after his first sip, licking his lips as he set the cup on the saucer. “That was very good. You’re quite masterful at tea-making, Mistress,” he praised. 

She blinked surprisingly at him. “You mean it?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“Pfft. Well, after considering your last little —” her eyes squinted suspiciously “— _stunt_, I took you as someone who enjoyed savoring the moment before crushing one’s misplaced optimism.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Are you seriously that offended?”

She gave him a side look and drank from her cup. 

His eyes narrowed. “Come now, don’t act so childish. While I appreciate your efforts, I won’t deny that what you served me was more akin to poison than anything else.”

“Poison?” she drawled. “Ha! Funny. Maybe the fault lies not in my food but your weak stomach.”

“That’s rich, coming from someone who probably hasn’t even tasted food before. If the state of my kitchen was any indication of the quality of your meal, then it would’ve been wiser for me to pass.” 

The tea set jumped with a clank when Mistress slammed her cup on the table. Surprisingly, nothing broke. “Hmph! Be that as it may, there is no better judge in this room than dear Itzhak. He’ll eat practically anything.” As if on cue, he appeared at the far end of the table where Mistress’s abomination still lay.

Alucard arched a brow. “If he’ll eat anything then his judgment would hardly be fair—”

“Nonsense.”

She smiled sweetly at Itzhak. “Go on, take a bite. Tell me how it is.”

He lifted the plate to the mouth that was forming on his face. It opened unnaturally wide to receive everything in one bite. The taste didn’t seem like much of a big deal once he closed his mouth to chew, but after a few moments, he started to retch and cough. When a thick, stringy piece of chicken fat flew out the corner of his mouth, he slurped it back inside, gagging as he did so. Mistress Death’s smile fell more and more with every wet burp and heave Itzhak emitted until her face eventually settled into an angry pout. On the other hand, Alucard was leaning back with his arms crossed, smirking smugly. After struggling to swallow, a shudder ran from the top of Itzhak’s head to the bottom of his feet.

Once his face returned to normal, he gurgled, “It — it’s…good, Mis—”

“Oh, shut up.”

Alucard chuckled, “Well, I think that settles things.” He pushed away from the table and walked towards the door.

Mistress looked at him quizzically. “Where are you going?”

Before leaving the kitchen, he switched on the lights and answered, “Off to retrieve some things. Hopefully, your pride isn’t so wounded that you plan on sitting there, sulking all night.”

* * *

Mistress stared at the cutting board, knife in hand. “You must be joking.”

“I most certainly am not,” Alucard replied, setting freshly washed vegetables in front of them. He dried his hands off on a towel and moved beside her.

“You mentioned earlier about possibly cooking for me again, correct? If your offer still stands, then I expect you to do things better the next time. Now, pay attention.”

Mistress raised a brow but couldn’t help to smile. She knew that Alucard wasn’t doing this to belittle her or show off. He was as much of a teacher as his parents, and sharing knowledge seems to be a quality he has similar to his mother. Plus, she had a feeling that he wanted to spend time with her as well, and she found that endearing.

Alucard held up a potato and rotated it to examine. “Potato skin is more nutritious than the potatoes themselves, and I washed them, so there is no need to remove them for this dish.”

Next, he set it on his cutting board and grabbed a knife, explaining, “Hold it crosswise and make sure to maintain it so that it doesn’t roll away while you cut. We’ll need to slice the potatoes like so, making sure each piece is even.”

He demonstrated until the entire potato was sliced. “Now, you try.”

Mistress nodded. “Alright.”

Halfway through cutting a potato, Alucard stopped her, patiently saying, “Your slices are uneven and too thick. Look at mine again, you see? They need to be uniform so that they all cook evenly.”

She tried again, and when he voiced his approval, they cut the rest together.

“You know a lot about cooking, it seems.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to learn here on my own. Some dishes I prepare are ones my mother used to make, and ones that I remember from places the castle traveled to. However, most are a result of experimentation or taken from books.”

She looked up in thought. “Hmm, now that I think about it, I do remember seeing an entire section of Dracula’s library containing nothing but cookbooks. Funny, since he rarely ever cooked.”

“He liked to collect knowledge,” Alucard said with a shrug.

She snorted. “Please, Adrian, call it what it was.”

“What?”

“Hoarding.”

The laughter he barked caused her eyes to crinkle at the corners.

“You must’ve teased my father a lot.”

“Heh heh, yes, more than you know.”

He cleared his throat. “Add these potatoes to the bowl. I already have minced garlic on hand, so let’s chop the spinach and halve these cherry tomatoes.”

She did as instructed and followed along with his guidance. Afterward, they moved everything over to the stove where he had raw chicken breasts waiting.

“Luckily, I had extra chicken stored, so there’s just enough for all three of us.”

From where Itzhak sat at the table, his head perked up. “Three?”

Alucard nodded. “It would be rude of me not to include you, Itzhak.”

The creature droned in response and cocked his head to the side as he watched him teach Mistress how to cook chicken properly. He noticed how her shoulders would sink then quickly raise back up whenever the dhampir looked away then back to her. Despite this, her voice was still full of as much mirth she could express despite her weariness, and she was enjoying his company immensely. However, being around Alucard was a double-edged sword for Mistress, and Itzhak was concerned for the day putting on a brave face would become too arduous a task for her.

He was brought out of these thoughts when a savory aroma triggered his mouth to form, just so it could water.

“You never add more than what the recipe calls for. One cup of heavy cream might not look like enough for this, but it is,” Alucard informed.

“I see. Maybe that’s why my jewel worms came out the way they did.”

“I thought you said you followed the recipe?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Mmm, I may have…added a few things here and there. Don’t look at me like that.”

After combining the other ingredients, they waited for everything to simmer. In the meantime, Mistress set the table while Alucard left to grab some wine. When he returned, it was time to serve the food.

Silverware clinked against the porcelain plates as the trio ate in comforting silence. Given Itzhak’s large hands, he looked like a giant eating with the utensils of a dwarf. Even still, he didn’t let that stop him from enjoying his meal…maybe a little too much.

Mistress huffed exasperatedly. “For the love of — Itzhak, please, you do not have to moan like that after every bite!” She cursed in her alien language then added, “Honestly, are you eating or making love?”

Alucard chuckled, and Itzhak even released a few sounds akin to a laugh.

“It should be a compliment to you, Mistress. He’s only enjoying what you’ve made.”

“What _we’ve_ made. And, you’re right, it is, so thank you, Itzhak. But, don’t be so dramatic about it next time,” she said with mock irritation but cracked a smile at him to signal that she was only teasing.

Light conversation was spoken between the three of them as they finished eating, and when Mistress and Itzhak exchanged a few words to one another in their language, Alucard drank from his wineglass.

As he did so, little Trevor and little Sypha had caught his eye from across the kitchen, and he could almost picture a smile on their faces. The wine tasted much sweeter that night.

* * *

A large bubble floated into the air, distorting the reflection of Mistress and Alucard as they stood side by side, washing dishes.

“This was my first time sharing a meal with someone,” she confessed, dunking a plate into the warm water.

“Really? I’m surprised given how much time you’ve spent with my parents.”

“I only ever drank tea with Lisa, and occasionally, wine with Dracula. But, I’ve never shared a meal with them…you’re my first.”

Alucard almost dropped a plate. A light blush stained his cheeks at her choice of words, given how innocently she said them.

“Right —” he hid his face with his hair “— well, did you enjoy it, then?”

He heard her soft laugh and froze when he felt her nails tickle the side of his face as she brushed his hair behind his ear. The motion compelled him to look at her, and despite her actions, he saw neither amusement nor teasing in her eyes, only pure adoration. He shivered.

“Very,” she answered.

xXx

When they finished, Mistress Death’s attire and hair transformed back to the way they originally looked. She stood in the middle of the kitchen with Itzhak by her side.

“There are things I must attend to.”

Alucard looked to the floor. “I understand.”

“Now now, pick your head up. There's no need to look so downhearted and blue.”

He flashed her a brief smile. “I thank you for visiting me tonight, Mistress, you were wonderful company.”

“You don't have to thank me. I’m glad I stayed — oh!”

Her lips parted in surprise when he grasped her hand and kissed the back of it politely.

“If it isn’t too much to ask, may I see you again?” He kept his head bowed, staring at her hand, not wanting to glance up for risk of seeing any rejection in her expression.

She slipped her hand from his and lifted his strong chin with her knuckle. Intense, pale eyes were level to his, reflecting his eyes and hair like specks of gold. Her trademarked stillness did not chill nor intimidate Alucard this time. To him, it seemed fragile, as if she’d dart away with any small movement on his behalf, so he kept still too and held his breath as if it’d blow her away if he released it. The longer he studied her face, the more her weariness revealed itself to him. A sadness slowly seeped to the surface of her eyes, then ebbed away and flowed back. It was a push and pull of vulnerability that seemed like she was trying to reveal something to him, and yet, would not — could not?

He itched to know what she was trying to say.

Mistakenly, his lips parted to speak, and he cursed inwardly as she hastily pulled away. But it wasn’t before he caught the pain that had briefly flashed through her eyes. She pulled her hood over her head, concealing most of her face in shadow.

His brow furrowed in concern. “Mistress?”

“I’ll return to you as soon as I can, but it won’t be as long of a wait as last time.”

His eye twitched. One thing he hated was tiptoeing around, but he acquiesced, simply because he didn’t want her to shut him out completely.

She uttered a word to him in her language that sounded lyrical, then explained, “That is my word of promise.”

When he tried repeating it back to her, she giggled at his slight butchering. “You were close.”

Black smoke rose from the ground where Mistress and Itzhak stood and slowly rotated up their forms.

“Until then, Adrian.”

“Until then, Mistress.”

Itzhak waved, and Alucard raised his hand in farewell, seeing the two of them off with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank all of you who've been commenting, and those of you who've been supporting my story. It means a lot to me and I'm happy to share this with you! As always, let me know what you think ^__^
> 
> Fun fact: Mistress Death's comment about Alucard crushing her optimism is a quote from one of my favorite Dilbert comic strips.


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